Enlightenment
by Kate Christie
Summary: Kate has a sudden realization that she is ready for more with Castle. As a result, she needs to revamp her lingerie drawer.
1. Chapter 1

**Enlightenment**

**A/N: Beckett has a very pragmatic, very introspective, very female conversation with herself about one aspect of her relationship with Castle. Not what I would consider a typical post-ep for "An Embarrassment of Bitches." **

She was going to have to start back on the pill.

As she sat with Royal on her couch scratching his ears, she stared off into space momentarily as the realization washed over her. She was mentally stuck back in that awkward, prolonged, completely overpowering caress. The touch of his hands reawakened parts of her anatomy that had remained dormant for all these months, bravado and "Next time without the tiger," aside.

She felt something, something like she'd felt so long ago on a hotel couch in LA. And all of a sudden, she knew she was going to make love with Rick Castle. And it was going to be sooner rather than later.

Kate prided herself on always being prepared, always being in control, both at work and in her personal life. She'd been responsible throughout adulthood, with even her modest "number" of partners. She'd been on the pill, she'd always used condoms. Babies were not something she had been ready for, and though she was always paranoid despite her precautions, she had never had a scare.

But since last May, all the parts of her life that hadn't involved breathing, working, and physically recovering lay dormant, so she hadn't seen any reason to restart birth control.

Over the summer, she hadn't had periods. After a few months she went to her gynecologist worried, since she had always been regular in the past. Her doctor assured her that with the stress on her body from her injury and the amount of weight she had lost through her recovery, her body had just shut down the hormones that would normally let her have a period. The body recognized when a woman could not physically carry a pregnancy to term and it turned off that whole axis. As soon as she put on ten pounds, she would start having periods again.

A couple of months later, after she forced herself to eat more protein and drink a glass of milk once a day instead of a diet soda, everything had started working again. But she was still so numb she didn't feel the need to start the prescription she had filled after her gyn appointment. It was odd. Even when she was depressed after her mother's death, she had always had some need for physical release. Now it didn't even occur to her.

But "numb" would not be what she was feeling at this moment. This was more like that nearly-painful tingling that surfaces when blood is restored to a limb that has fallen asleep.

Wall be damned, she wanted physical intimacy again. And for the first time in a long time, the emotional intimacy that she always sought but rarely achieved in her romantic relationships had a decent chance of existing. She'd been working on that part with herself and her therapist. It was time to add Rick to the equation.

Royal slid out from her now-still fingers and grabbed the squeaky toy from the floor, nudging her hand to play. She tossed the toy toward the door and he gleefully took off after it. As he returned with it, wagging his tail with a big doggy grin, she had another thought. This time she decided to voice it. She had someone to talk to now, why not make use of him?

"Royal, I think I need lingerie."

She tossed the toy again and rose from the couch to cross to her bedroom. She opened the top drawer of her dresser and saw a vast collection of no-nonsense cotton underwear. Her bras were all relatively new and completely boring, because as she healed, she found that the only ones she could tolerate wearing all day were soft and forgiving. She dug to the back and found one black lacy bra that she hadn't worn in almost a year and made a disgruntled noise. Royal whined behind her in response.

"This is just sad."

She moved to her bed and reached underneath for a clear plastic bin: the former contents of her top drawer. They ranged from lacy and black to red and barely-there to hot pink and sparkly (oh, god what had she been thinking with the glitter?). None of it seemed right. None of this was her any more. She let herself form the thought that had been floating in her subconscious.

"None of this is what I am with Rick."

Royal dropped his toy in the box, right on top of a red thong with little bows across the back. He seemed to agree with her assessment.

"This is going to require shopping Royal."

She picked up the toy with a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Oh, if only Rick knew where this thing had been… She closed the box and slid it back under her bed, stood and tossed the toy out and down the hallway. Royal took off after it, ever faithful, ever returning.

She was going to Victoria's Secret this weekend, and she wasn't leaving until she had a new top drawer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Enlightenment Chapter 2**

**Might not be what you're expecting.**

She walked through the doors and was immediately overwhelmed by the intensity of the color pink, and by the number of pajama pants hanging up front. She had to pass through counters of bath products and fragrances to even get to the lingerie. She didn't remember so much of this other stuff.

It was Saturday, a rare day off, and she had come alone. She had thought about calling Lanie, but this was something she just needed to do by herself. She didn't want an audience.

After glancing through the racks, she grabbed her size in a few flirty, sexy, fairly see-through items and got in line. Saturday morning was apparently a popular time to go lingerie shopping for perky twenty-somethings. Girls had come in pairs, holding up items and giggling or smirking before going into dressing rooms, sometimes also in pairs. The woman policing the rooms looked completely overwhelmed by the "no" rack and the endless line of customers.

When Kate finally got her own room, she disrobed quickly and slid on the first nightie. It was black, somewhat sheer, low cut in front, and had no ribbons or sparkles. The first thing she noticed as she shimmied into it was that she didn't seem to fill it out. But she'd picked up her size? She turned to the mirror after slipping on the matching underwear and took in a sharp breath. Oh. Wow. She didn't think it would be so obvious. But it was. This even covered the big one along her ribs, but just the little one between her breasts just looked so angry and red contrasted with the sleek black lingerie.

She turned and looked from other angles. This definitely didn't fit right. And no matter the angle, her eyes were just drawn to that puckered, round imperfection. She had always had a nice body. She'd been one of those twenty-somethings outside, proud enough of her body to ask a good friend's opinion on lingerie. Now, well, she was glad she hadn't brought Lanie.

She wouldn't give up yet. She had other things to try. Maybe this was just the wrong cut or material.

Five outfits later, as she buttoned her blouse up over her no-nonsense underwear, her hands were a little shaky. She wasn't this shallow. She knew she was beautiful. But some of her confidence, despite her intelligence and her physical and mental strengths, did come from feeling sexy wearing little to nothing.

She was not going to break down in the dressing room of a Victoria's Secret. She had more important things to think about and more going for her as a woman than her looks. But there was something about standing in lingerie in the harsh lights with the giggling girls outside that she just could not handle right now.

She gathered up her things, dropped all her items on top of the poor attendant's return pile, and made a beeline for the exit.

Well, she wouldn't be doing that again anytime soon.

She headed up the avenue back toward her apartment and stopped at a Starbucks. She never drank the whipped cream-laden confections that Castle liked, but on a whim she tried a Skinny Cinnamon Dolce Latte.

She trudged on, trying to decide if she should just go for another run to get her out of this funk. A few blocks up, as she was composing the speech she would give if she ever met the CEO of Victoria's Secret about the evils of objectifying women with cheap, trashy, glittery lingerie and nationally-televised fashion shows, she had a fairly good head of steam built up to overpower any sense of insecurity lingering from her experience.

That was when she spotted it. She'd forgotten it was here, even though she passed it nearly every time she took a long run. It was a non-descript storefront, windows and door shaded by a large tree near the curb. "Dora's Ladies Boutique" was painted in script on the window. She had never been inside, in fact she had thought of it as kind of a little-old-lady store. Certainly not somewhere she would have thought to bring friends to shop for lingerie. But now that she really looked in the window, she saw they had nice things. Pretty things, really. She stopped at the door and peered in. After the morning she'd had so far, it couldn't get any worse. Why the hell not?

As she turned the knob, the old-fashioned hardware shifted and she tugged on it to open the door. A bell tinkled above her head, and then she heard a soft pop from one side of the room. She suppressed the reflex to flinch at the noise, took a breath, and stepped inside.

The first thing she noticed was the soft lighting. Neutral tones with dark wood paneling. No showy displays. Everything was hung closeted along the walls or laid out on heavy, granite-topped tables. She heard Rachmaninoff playing softly in the background.

A petite, middle-aged woman stood smiling behind an antique desk as she set a bottle of champagne into a waiting ice bucket. She looked up at Kate and stepped around the desk to where she stood, extending a hand.

"Well, hello there, darlin'. I'm Dora. What can I help you find this morning?"

She had a soft Southern lilt to her voice and a surprisingly firm handshake. Kate noticed the subtle but stylish makeup, pinned up graying hair, perfectly-tailored suit, and string of pearls. She smiled back in spite of herself.

"I'm not really sure."

Dora placed a gentle hand behind her elbow and walked her toward the desk.

"Here dear. Start on this." She handed her a heavy crystal champagne flute and poured her a generous glass. "Well, then what's the occasion? Are you getting married?" She leaned conspiratorially in and guided Kate toward the rows of lingerie hanging along one wall.

"Oh, no, not getting married." Dora veered away from the white and cream section she had been aiming for.

"A new man in your life, then?" She looked up at Kate and slyly raised an eyebrow with a knowing grin.

"Kind of. Well, I wouldn't exactly call him 'new,' but it's complicated. Let's just say, I'm looking for a fresh start." Why was she telling this woman any of this?

"Oh, I like that. Fresh starts are one of my specialties. Now, tell me your name, so I can stop calling you darlin'. People in New York seem to be bothered if I use it too much."

Kate chuckled. She was telling her things because she was Dora, apparently. She had a store that had been here at least as long as Kate had been in the neighborhood, with very nice things from what she could see, and she obviously still ran the business herself. Manhattan had a way of making warm people turn cold, but Dora still had the smile and the honeyed tone of voice straight out of wherever her hometown was.

"I'm Kate. Where are you from, Dora?"

"I grew up in Fort Worth, Texas. My momma and daddy had a pretty little shop down there, and I came up to get my own fresh start about 15 years ago. Took a little time to get settled, but the right people found me. What do you do for a living, Kate?"

"I'm a homicide detective with the NYPD."

"Oh my, how impressive. It must be difficult sometimes to maintain a sense of being a woman when you're in charge of so many men, especially with the things you see every day. I have so much respect for what you do, solving crimes and putting things to rights for the families."

From someone else, Kate might have taken her words as condescending or intrusive, but somehow coming from this woman, she understood they were sincere.

Dora had led Kate back to a curtained hallway in the center of the room.

"Why don't we get you measured and then I'll pick some things out and bring them back to you. Dora's Fresh Start Special."

She pushed the curtain aside to reveal a tastefully-lit mirrored alcove flanked by two doors.

"I think we'll put you in the blue room. I'll bet with your coloring, the light in there will be just right."

She opened the door on the left and Kate took in the chaise lounge, love seat, and matching chair, all quite modern but interspersed with dark wood antique side tables and full-length free-standing mirrors. The lighting was indirect, the carpet was plush, and the walls were a rosy cream.

It wasn't until she put down her champagne and took off her jacket that she saw Dora start to back out of the room.

"I'll get my tape measure while you undress. The less you have on up top, the better I can size you, but you can leave your panties on."

Kate suddenly realized what this meant. She was going to have an audience after all. She knew her expression must have changed, because it was reflected back in Dora's look.

"Now Kate, I have seen just about everything, tattoos and piercings and beauty marks and all, so don't be shy." She ducked out the door and closed it with a soft click. She wasn't so sure about this. Her hands were a little shaky again as she started to unbutton her blouse. She closed her eyes, took another long sip of champagne, and tried again.

When she heard Dora's soft knock, she had gotten down to just her panties, facing away from the door.

"All set, dear?"

"Sure." That didn't sound shaky. Really, it didn't.

To her credit, Dora walked around in front of Kate and looked her straight in the eye. Kate wasn't quite up to that direct gaze, so she shifted to look at a point in the corner of the ceiling.

"Now, arms out to the side a bit."

She wrapped the tape around her ribs, adjusting it to fit without being tight. It was running right along the bigger scar.

"Don't forget to breathe. If you hold your breath my number will be wrong, and worse, I might have to catch you if you faint dead away." Kate exhaled and huffed out a small chuckle.

Dora checked the number and moved to measure over the fullest part of her breasts, then her waist and hips. She stepped back, rolled the tape into her jacket pocket, and wrote the numbers down on a pad she pulled from her opposite pocket. Kate dropped her arms, not quite sure how to stand.

"OK, I'll be right back. And Katie, sweetheart, I don't want to overstep, but can I tell you something?"

"Sure." Kate crossed her arms over her chest and met her eyes. She wasn't so sure.

"You are a beautiful woman." She swept her hand toward Kate's two angry red marks. "If those are what have you so skittish about not wearing clothes, then you have nothing to worry about. I don't know this Fresh Start of yours, but I'll just bet that if he's lucky enough to be in a bedroom with you, the last thing he'll be looking at will be a couple of little pink scars. Now, I'm going to go out there and bring back a couple of things that will hide every bit of those, but what I hope is that you'll try the ones I'm going to bring that don't hide a bit of you." And with that, she turned and left.

Kate blinked at the closed door. How on earth did this complete stranger get inside her head? And moreover, how did she get it all exactly right? She didn't leave Kate much room for disagreement, either. Kate shrugged her blouse over her shoulders and sat on the lounge. She crossed her legs, reached for her glass, and sipped, allowing a small smile to slide across her lips. She liked this woman, intrusive bossiness and all. Now that she thought about it, maybe she knew why. That was exactly what Johanna Beckett would have said.

Dora had really lovely taste, and true to her word, she had brought back a little bit of everything. Glitter was conspicuously absent, thank god. Kate was going to have no problem filling that top drawer. Trying on things that fit her body and were beautifully-made really made a difference. It shouldn't give her self-esteem or confidence just to have a pretty backdrop and an elegant soundtrack and French champagne, but despite her feminist leanings, Dora and her Ladies Boutique made a difference. No pink pajama store ever again.

While she was changing, she heard another customer come in, and from somewhere she heard another saleswoman's voice start the process again. Dora stayed with her, and she was glad. When it came down to picking what to buy, especially what she had in mind for, well, for their first time, she actually asked Dora's opinion.

The older woman quietly stepped in and closed the door.

God she had to stop thinking about this whole thing like it was a foregone conclusion or a wedding night, but she'd built it up so much in her mind she couldn't help herself, and it was a first impression, after all. The bathtub didn't count. She didn't just want "wow;" she wanted speechless. That required an outside opinion.

"Take your hair down, for goodness sake, why do you have all that beautiful hair if not for this! OK, now look at yourself again." She held up her index finger and twirled it around.

"Turn around… all the way." Her finger shifted to point toward the chaise.

"Now sit. Look in the mirror while you're sitting, too. I know you think you won't have it on that long anyway, but just humor me, I sometimes know what I'm talking about." Kate laughed out loud hoped that hid her blush.

Dora stepped out while she switched outfits, and she repeated it all with the second option.

"So, what do you think? I just don't know."

Dora took a breath and looked up at Kate with a critical eye.

"They are both stunning on you, Kate. But one of them makes you glow when you wear it."

"The first one."

"You got it sweetie. You were thinking about him the whole time you had it on."

Kate held up the topic of conversation on its hanger.

"You're right. How did you know that?"

"Every once in a while, someone comes in here in the same spot you're in right now—totally in love and completely at a loss on what to do about it. You haven't taken the leap yet, but you're thinking about it every day. You're looking for something to help you form the thought that's in your head into reality. And when you find it, it shows. You're there, darlin'." She smiled.

"Now get changed and come on out while I ring all this up. And then I'm gonna do something I never, ever do with my customers. We're going to have us a little toast, because I think this Fresh Start is worth celebrating."


	3. Chapter 3

**Enlightenment 3**

Castle had been out of the precinct all week. It was Thursday, and he had texted late the night before to say his last meeting would be over by lunchtime. He would bring them sustenance to celebrate being "free from the clutches of the editors and money-people."

Kate had cleared half of her top drawer and stocked the empty space with some of her new things from Dora's on Sunday night. Dora had surprised her by hiding one extremely risqué ensemble that Kate had blushed furiously about, fell in love with, and then decided was probably a bit over the top, in a package of tissue paper at the bottom of one of her bags. The little store card she left inside the wrapping had Dora's looping handwriting on the back. "A little present for your Fresh Start. Bring him by sometime. –D." That one and a few other special items found space in her closet. Most of the rest were in the drawer. Except the set she had put on today, as she dressed for paperwork and hopefully courage.

She had forgotten how sexy lingerie could make you feel when you wore it under regular clothes all day. This set was fairly demure—navy satin bra and bikini underwear with contrasting white stitching. The one feminine nod was the narrow white satin ribbon running along all the edges, meeting between her breasts in a tiny looped knot, with a matching knot at the center of the waistband on the underwear. She felt the cling and the slip of the satin when she moved or sat, and it made her hyper-aware of her body.

Who was she kidding? She was coming out of her skin waiting for Castle to walk in the door. She was currently simultaneously plotting how she could lure him off to an empty observation room and have a private but extremely interactive fashion show, and convincing herself that she was not going to maul him in the middle of the precinct like a lusty fan-girl who wanted her chest signed.

She had already gone through this 347 times in the past three days. She was not going to get into a physical relationship with this man until she had a serious conversation about secrets and feelings and all the things Dr. Burke would want her to discuss with him. She could have jumped him three years ago if all she wanted was a sexy tumble in his bed. She'd waited all this time so that they could have something more. Something that reminded her of the one healthy, stable relationship she had been exposed to: her parents. All her life, she had defined love and marriage by their standard. She couldn't help it, it was what she knew, and they had been truly happy.

The fact that she could form the thoughts of her happy mother and father in her mind without slipping into a downward spiral of sadness and regret spoke to her progress with Dr. Burke and her self-awareness.

She wanted real.

But she also wanted long, slow, deep, wet kisses that last three days. With Castle. Oh my. There must be an order to these things, but patience was not one of her virtues.

The elevator bell interrupted her thoughts and the object of her distraction walked in with bags of carryout. He looked across the bullpen, presumably scanning for her and Ryan and Esposito as he crossed to the break room.

"I have Chinese. If you want a spring roll, you'd better come quick."

Ryan and Espo were already digging through cartons by the time she got into the room.

He held out a pair of chopsticks and a carton of chicken chow mein, and he smiled at her with a puzzled look on his face.

"What?"

"I don't know. You look… different. Did you change your make up or your hair or something?"

No, she was just blushing furiously because she was sure he had invested in some mad scientist's wacky X-ray vision project and could at this moment see straight through her clothes to her new lingerie.

"Nope." She raised her eyebrows in what she hoped was an enigmatic expression and dove into the chicken and veggies.

"New outfit?"

Holy crap. He could not have X-ray vision. She had totally been kidding.

"In a manner of speaking."

"Huh."

"So how was your meeting marathon, Bro?" Espo broke the lingerie-induced spell before she had an opportunity to complete her 13-year-old girl image by giggling. Kate did not giggle. Ever.

"If I have to sit with Gina, my lawyer, and another person in a suit again any time in the next year, I cannot be responsible for my actions."

"That bad?" Kate asked as she grabbed the last spring roll.

"Let's just say all parties found a solution that met their needs, and thanks to my team of pit bulls, I may soon be able to buy the nation of Greece to use as a vacation home."

"Dude, is this all with Nikki Heat money? Cuz we should totally be in on some of those profits."

"Yeah, we're your muses after all," Ryan added through a mouth full of moo-shi pork.

Castle pinned Kate with his baby blues.

"You can totally come to Greece with me whenever you want."

He flicked his gaze to Esposito and Ryan.

"And you'll never be lacking for take-out. Oh, and I have Knicks tickets for Saturday I'm not going to use."

Ryan and Esposito simultaneously called out dibs.

"You two can fight amongst yourselves."

After a few hours of filling out forms on her part and Angry Birds on his, she placed her last file in the out box on her desk and reached for her keys. Esposito and Ryan had left an hour or so before.

"I'm calling it a night, Castle." He stood, and as he reached for his coat he glanced in her direction.

"Hey, do you have plans tomorrow night? Alexis is in a play, and Mom and I are going to go and then take her for ice cream afterward. She's actually got a decent part, and she had time this semester since she isn't taking many courses, and obviously my mother is thrilled her perfect granddaughter has inherited her acting skills."

Was it just her over-active imagination, or was he nervously babbling and riffling through his coat pockets to give his hands something to do?

"What play?" She was going for coy, but she was afraid it came out as intrigued and mildly over-eager.

"The Bard, as Mother would say, 'Much Ado About Nothing.'" They were ambling toward the elevator, tugging on outerwear and accessories. He kept sneaking little hopeful sideways glances at her. She quirked one corner of her mouth up into a lopsided grin.

"I love the Kenneth Branagh version of that one. Sure, I'll go along, as long as I'm not stuck with a body."

"I thought you weren't on call this weekend?" He looked genuinely concerned, scrunched brow and all.

"Keeping tabs on my free time, Castle?" She raised an eyebrow and maintained the grin, hoping he could read her, as usual.

"I'm a writer, I do research." He smiled slightly, relief washing over his features as he figured out she was messing with him.

"Okay, fine, you're right, we're not on call this weekend." The elevator opened and she motioned for him to precede her through the doors.

"We'll come get you at seven."

"You won't be here tomorrow?" Now she was concerned. Where was all this neediness coming from? Oh, right, her navy-blue satin underwear. She stood up a little straighter.

"I'm helping with the set. They needed someone to lift and carry." This side of him got to her every time.

"You're a good Dad."

"I try. And I have stock in Advil." They exited the elevator and parted ways. She was still grinning when she pulled out of the parking deck.

She got a call at midnight. Thankfully it was decidedly not Beckett-flavored, and by 5pm, she was pulling things off the murder board for filing.

"Yo, boss, we've got the paperwork."

"Why the sudden gesture of selflessness, Espo?" The enigmatic look made her suspicious. Enigmatic looks from her boys usually involved Castle… or Atlantic City. Most recently, both.

"We may have heard you have some, uh, plans later on." Ryan piped up from behind his computer.

"Let me guess, a little bird told you. Maybe the same one who put bagels in the break room this morning?"

"We have no idea what you're talking about." Espo deadpanned.

"Right. Well, thank you, guys. Have a good weekend off."

"Tell Little Castle to break a leg."

She smiled as she put the file box on Esposito's desk.

At home, she slid open her top drawer. She was going to his kid's school play. No way she was wearing anything provocative on the outside. And she had no intention of having that fashion show tonight. No, she was holding strong to her conviction to have a long talk before the lingerie came out to play. But that didn't mean she couldn't wear something a little bit special under her jeans and sweater.

She dug looking for the black silk camisole and matching shorts. She had never been one for wearing camisoles under her clothes—they seemed gratuitous and unnecessary except for the occasional utilitarian white under a white button-down. But when Dora insisted she try, she slipped on this set and fell in love. The silk brushed over her so gently, and the hem tickled her hipbones when she moved. It felt like the whisper of gentle fingers caressing. And she knew exactly whose fingers she was imagining. This did not bode well for maintaining her resolve.

She slid the black knit V-neck sweater and dark straight-leg jeans on and ran her fingers through her freshly blow-dried hair. She added a spray of perfume to her neck and wrists, which she almost never did, but it went with the lingerie somehow.

There was a knock at her door as she was zipping up her black boots.

"Just a second," she called from her bedroom. She forced herself to calmly cross to the door and peered through the peephole. He looked _yummy_. Crap, no, he looked _very nice_ in his navy button-down and jeans. She opened the door.

"Hey."

"Hey, come in for a sec while I grab my coat. Oh, and I hope it's OK. I got her some flowers." She opened her fridge and pulled out the paper-wrapped bouquet of purple tulips and green calla lilies to show him.

"Oh, Kate, you didn't need to do that. But those are beautiful. She'll love them." He had that shy smile on his face that only came out when he was thinking of Alexis. She had done well.

He helped her into her coat, hands lingering on her shoulders a little longer than absolutely necessary. She felt him lean in closer and heard him sniff. More like inhale.

"You smell good."

"Thanks."

"New perfume?"

"Not exactly, I don't wear it much."

She turned and he followed her out the door, hand at the small of her back, tickling just slightly through all those layers down to the whisper of silk. She closed her eyes as she turned her key in the lock and took a deep breath. She should have known he'd pick tonight to be touchy-feely, nose-in-her-hair, personal-space-invading Rick.

Alexis had loved the flowers, and Kate had been fairly impressed by the group of teenagers tackling Shakespeare. At Serendipity afterward, they were digging into their various ice cream concoctions listening to backstage stories. Martha had once been Beatrice in the New York Shakespeare Festival's revival of the play.

"That was too long ago for anyone to remember in this group, except you my dear boy. Then again, you might not actually remember much; you were only one or two. You toddled around in the dressing rooms while I was having hair and makeup done. You were definitely the girls' mascot, Richard."

He dug another bit of peanut butter pie out from under the pile of ice cream and bananas in his "Can't Say No" Sundae and smiled broadly.

"Good to know I was establishing my reputation early."

Kate sipped her frozen hot chocolate and contemplated the feeling of her right side being pressed fully against her partner, tucked into their booth in the corner of the packed restaurant. When he had reached for her hand in the theater, she'd felt a flutter of girlish excitement like it was her very first movie date with Bill Keller in seventh grade. But unlike that day, she hadn't pulled away from Rick. In fact, he'd grabbed her hand on every possible occasion since then, waiting backstage for Alexis, sitting in the town car on the ride from the auditorium, trailing up the stairs into the restaurant. Now he needed his hands for his massively ridiculous ice cream conglomeration, so he'd settled for sitting snugly against her instead. And somehow she didn't mind.

"So what are you making tomorrow, darling?" Martha reached over to steal a strawberry from Alexis' sundae.

"Pasta Bolognese," the redhead answered with full dramatic flourish and an overdone Italian accent.

Kate must have looked confused, because Alexis turned to her in explanation.

"Since I've got call at 6:30 tomorrow, we're having Saturday night dinner early. And cooking keeps me from getting nervous before the show, so I'm making the good stuff. If you're free, you should come, Kate. We'll eat at 5 so Grams can take me to the theater in time."

She tried not to seem shocked, but it was hard not to feel… honored… maybe, by the obviously genuine invitation to their family dinner. She wasn't sure about all this Castle time in one weekend. But she didn't have plans.

"Oh, well, I…"

"Kate may have had enough of us for one week, dear. Don't put her on the spot." Martha shifted her look from her hopeful granddaughter to Kate.

She snuck a quick peek at Rick who appeared expectant as he devoured a mouthful of whipped cream.

"No, actually, I'd like that. Are you all going to the show again tomorrow?"

"Weelee?" Rick hadn't quite swallowed, apparently. He tried again. "You can come? That's awesome. Alexis makes fantastic Bolognese." He beamed in the direction of his daughter.

"And no, just Grams is coming with me tomorrow. I used my other tickets for some friends. Dad will come back next weekend for the last performance, though."

So this meant they'd be alone after dinner. Maybe this was her chance for a talk, if she could keep her hands to herself and her wits about her long enough to come out with her confession. Bravery was her forte in all aspects of her life except for her personal relationships. Time to change that.

He walked her to her door with Martha and Alexis waiting in the town car downstairs. She couldn't let the gesture go unnoticed, and she wanted to have a real conversation with him about… things… tomorrow. Not a time for reticence. She unlocked her door and opened it, removing her key. Then she turned back to face him, and his pink cheeks and sparkling eyes. She wanted it, all of it. Pink and sparkling and sweet and passionate. Real.

"Thank you for tonight. I had a good time." He reached for her hands and entwined his fingers with hers.

"You came to see my kid in her school play and then we went out for ice cream with my mother. Not exactly the opera and a midnight supper by candlelight." He was looking at their hands.

"Opera's fine, but I prefer the theatre." He looked up to meet her eyes.

"I'm really glad you came. And I'm also really glad you're going to have dinner with us tomorrow. But if you change your mind, or something else comes up-" He closed his eyes on the last phrase.

"No, Castle, you don't have to give me an out. I said yes, and I meant it. I'll see you at five." He looked back into her eyes.

She couldn't help the pull and the tug and the insistence of her heart. She leaned in and softly touched her lips to his cheek, then hovered, unable to immediately pull away.

"Goodnight, Rick."

"Until tomorrow, Kate."


	4. Chapter 4

"Thank you again for dinner, Alexis. And break a leg. You'll be great."

Alexis reached over and hugged her before she jogged out the door with Martha. Kate hadn't really expected the tight squeeze, but strangely it momentarily steadied her nerves about her looming admission. With the click of the door closing, she was alone with the man she was about to hurt. She did not want to do this. She had to do this. She intentionally hadn't worn anything from the new top drawer in order to stack the deck in favor of having the serious conversation. She needed courage. She needed-

"Here you go. Thank you for bringing this, by the way."

Castle passed her a glass of the California Cabernet she had deemed very respectable, despite its moderate price tag. Her hands had better not even think about shaking. He motioned her over toward the couch.

"So, movie? Knicks game? Or shall I read to you from the draft of the next Nikki Heat?"

She sat and drew up a knee to turn in his direction.

"As tempting as that last one sounds, actually, there's something I want to say. Something I've been meaning to tell you for a while now." His look darkened slightly.

"Why do I think this isn't going to be the rest of our conversation about each other's numbers?"

She managed a smile and a huff of a laugh.

"No, though somehow I'm not surprised you're still fixating on that one. Actually, I wanted to tell you about Dr. Burke, my therapist."

"But I thought you already told me about your physical therapist? Aren't you done with all of that now?"

"Different kind of therapy, Castle. Dr. Burke is a psychiatrist. One of the precinct's contract psychiatrists, to be exact. He's the one I had to see last summer in order to pass my psych evaluation and come back to work."

Relief seemed to wash over his face. At least she had his approval on the concept.

"I sort of never stopped seeing him."

"He's helping you with your PTSD."

"That's part of it. But that wasn't originally the reason I went back to him after I passed my eval. A long time ago, I told you that I didn't think I could be the kind of person I wanted to be, or start a real relationship, until I solved my mom's case."

"I remember."

"Well, it turns out I was wrong."

His eyes widened and he looked like he was trying to find something to say. Before he could, she continued.

"Dr. Burke has been helping me figure out that it wasn't really about the case. It was about me, and never getting over losing my mom, and refusing to give up this one last connection to her. It was about not letting myself have a real life because it would be a life without her in it. And it was about pushing people away now to avoid having to deal with losing them later."

"Kate, why are you telling me all this now?" He put his wine on the coffee table and she did the same, then took a breath and looked at him through her lashes.

"Because you're the one I've been pushing away." She couldn't read his face. He was looking so intently into hers that maybe he was having the same problem. When he did speak, it was in a hesitant, quiet voice she hadn't often heard.

"But you're here with me now." Well, there it was; time to own up to it.

"I don't want to push anymore." His brows rose hopefully.

"But there's something else, Rick. Something I've been keeping from you." Here goes nothing, or everything.

"On top of the disappearing act last summer, I lied to you." Again, he looked almost relieved.

"You remember the shooting." He said it calmly, like he had practiced it. And without much of a pause, he continued.

"Kate, I never really thought you forgot. That's why I was so angry with you when you finally showed up and acted like everything was back to normal. I didn't say anything, because I thought maybe there was some tiny chance that I was wrong.

"But I knew for sure the first time you dropped on the sidewalk during the sniper case. You remembered all of it, the flash of the sight, the bullet, bleeding in my arms. You didn't want to deal with it. I knew you'd eventually tell me, when you were ready to accept it."

His last words hung in the air. She was pushing tears back, blinking through the shock that he'd known all along. Only Rick Castle would manage to see her confession as a good sign.

"I'm so sorry, Rick. I'm sorry that I couldn't deal with it. I heard you though, and it helped me. It was so selfish of me, keeping all the comfort of those words for myself."

He reached across the cushion and took her hand, twined their fingers together.

"I was really mad, Kate, past tense. Lately, I've just tried to be hopeful."

"I don't know how this is going to go, Rick. I'm not sure about very much at all, lately. I'm not sure I even know how to be in a relationship, to really work at it and put everything I have in it. But that's what I want to do. That's what I asked Dr. Burke to help me do—to have enough of a feeling for myself that I can share it all with you."

She squeezed his fingers. But looking up from their hands she saw that a new cloud had settled over his features.

"Honesty seems to be the order of the day. I need to show you something." He pulled her up off the couch and tugged her into his office. He grabbed the remote for his smartboard from under the pile of papers on his desk and turned back to her. He looked terrified.

"You know how it felt just now, trying to tell me something that you thought would hurt, that might ruin everything before we even have anything to ruin?"

She narrowed her eyes at him and nodded slightly. She didn't think she was going to like whatever this was.

"Now it's my turn. All those months ago, I told you not to chase your mom's case. I told you to put it aside for a while, and we'd solve it together. I had a very specific reason for asking you to leave it alone. A man called me right after you came back to the 12th. He had received documents, evidence about the conspiracy to kill your mom and then kill you. Montgomery was an old friend of his, and apparently his last act before he called us to the hangar was to put those documents in the mail. This man told me that if you kept digging, you would be killed. No hesitation, no question. The only way to keep you alive was to get you off the case, and leave it to this man to keep the conspirators in check with his evidence."

She was stunned. She was numb. He'd kept the case open all this time. He had more information and he had kept it to himself. Fingers of the old obsession were creeping up and squeezing her heart. She felt the tingle of anger and dread and sadness spreading through her veins. It had been so long since she'd allowed herself to feel any of this. She had worked so hard to put it all away. Now he had brought it back; déjà vu. This had all happened before. She gripped the hand he was still holding tighter, and she tuned back in to what he was saying, focused on his voice over the hum in her ears.

"But I didn't give up, Kate. I did some digging. I tried to make the connection to this shadow man and Washington, DC-that's where the phone call came from. I didn't get anywhere. Everything was a dead end or a roadblock. Then I heard from him again, when the mayor was accused last month. And this time I met with him. He said there were ties to your case, and you had to back off. They haven't forgotten about you, Kate."

He clicked on the smartboard and let go of her hand to tap the file marked with her photo. The web of information appeared, including a dark, grainy photo of the shadow man from the parking garage. Her eyes darted to all the images, taking in the layout and the new points since she had last seen the leads in front of her, assimilating the data. She closed her eyes and pressed against them with her fingers.

"If you want it, everything I've found, all the digging and the information is here. I'm going to let you tell me what to do. I've been protecting you, trying to let you have that real life you were talking about, and I hope you can understand that, but it would be dishonest of me to keep this from you now."

She studied the grainy photo.

"It has to be someone high up. Higher up that I ever thought: Congress, Supreme Court, something like that. Castle, this is important. I need to make sure you understand me."

She turned to him, put a hand on his chest, felt his heart beating through his ribcage, and looked into his eyes.

"You cannot chase this anymore without me. If they would kill me, they would probably kill you for doing this." He reached up and took her hand in his. She took another breath to get up the courage.

"If I'm going to have a life with you, we have to do this together or not at all." She hoped that sounded resolute."

"Can you really step away from it?"

"I did when you asked me to."

"OK then, I'm asking again. Keep out of it unless I'm in it with you. Turn-about is fair play, Kate. I love you, and if you're giving me a say in it, then I say we stay out."

Her mouth fell open when it registered, but he just plowed on like he said it to her every day.

"Whoever this is won't go away—I've seen that for myself. We'll get dragged back into it again, but then we'll have more to go on. And we can do it with the boys and Gates backing us up."

He clicked off the board and put down the remote, then grabbed her other hand in his and pulled her into his chest. She laid her cheek against his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her.

"I can feel myself wanting to find these answers and take down this person, these people. But I learned something in the past six months. More than finding justice for my mom with an arrest warrant, I want to find it by living a life she would have been proud of."

"She would have been so proud of you. You have to know that. And even if I don't have any real claim, I'm proud of you, too."

"She would have told me to quit being an idiot and tell you how I feel about you." She pulled back slightly and quirked a begrudging smile.

He laughed aloud and the sparkle came back to his eyes.

"I like your mom a lot."

"Oh, she would have loved you."

"Think so?"

"She would have loved anyone that took care of me the way you do, the way you try to. And she would have made you sign her copies of all your books."

"Your mom read my books?"

"Castle, she's the reason I started reading your books. She didn't just read them, she was a fan."

"That does it, now I love your mom."

"I met someone the other day who reminded me of her. I want to introduce you."

"Who is she?"

"Her name is Dora; she owns a ladies clothing store over near my apartment."

"'Dora's Ladies Boutique' Dora?"

"Uh, yeah, how do you know that store?"

"Oh, the _Times_ did a big piece on her a few years ago in the fashion section. I remember it made me feel good when I read it—a real heart-warming success story. I think her husband and little girl died in a car crash in Texas, and so she came up here with almost nothing to start over. She built that lingerie business of hers all by herself—she's a bit of a legend in Manhattan fashion circles. I think a couple of First Ladies have even shopped there when they were in town. But back up a second here, how do you know her exactly?"

"I went to her store."


	5. Chapter 5

"You bought lingerie from Dora? Recently? Pray, tell me, Detective, why would you do such a thing?"

She had escaped his embrace and backed up toward the open door to the living room. His office was just a little too close to his bedroom for her current state of underwear. But he wasn't letting her put much space between them, stalking her as he questioned.

"You didn't have any particular occasion, for example, did you?"

"Of course not, Castle. Can't a girl just walk into a lingerie store without an ulterior motive?" He was off on theory-building now, looking at her like she was the most intriguing suspect in his line-up.

"Sure, a girl can do whatever random shopping she wants to in New York City. But you are decidedly not just any girl. You plan things. You contemplate them, and orchestrate them, and art direct them. That's what was different about you this week. You started wearing sexy underwear, didn't you?" He narrowed his eyes and pointed at her, waving his index finger up and down toward the spots her underwear would be under her clothes. She crossed her arms over her chest.

"I might have. So what?" She was still trying to pull off haughty and disinterested, but she was pretty sure he was seeing right through it.

"So last week when I dropped off Royal, I had to forcibly remove myself from your hand and your apartment to avoid throwing you down on the couch, tearing off your clothes, and making love to you until you couldn't remember your own name. I thought you were scared, but you didn't want me to leave, did you? You were standing there, staring into my eyes and imaging being ravished. And then you went right out and bought ravish-worthy underwear!"

He smiled triumphantly, like he'd just solved a case with a crazy alien conspiracy theory.

Her brain had apparently stopped producing speech. She just kept stepping carefully backward, eyes slightly squinted, lips pressed tight.

"Are you wearing it right now?"

"Of course I'm wearing underwear, Castle, what do you take me for? But I don't know what you're talking about, 'ravish-worthy underwear.' "

"Quit while you're ahead Kate. You know I can tell if you're not telling the truth." Well, he'd just proved that this evening quite resoundingly, hadn't he?

"Fine. Yes, I may have been prompted to buy some things at Dora's by our little exchange at my apartment. But that does not mean I'm jumping into bed with you right now."

He'd stopped chasing her, so she stopped backing away. His smile changed, too, morphing to something intent and wistful. When he spoke this time, his tone was more serious, quiet.

"The more I think about this, the more it all makes sense. You got all hot and bothered at the same time I did, but you didn't want to act on it, because you didn't want to start this without coming clean about your secret. You wanted to do it in the right order. You know this matters, we matter, and you didn't want to screw it up. I'm right, aren't I?"

"Yeah, Castle, you are." Honesty was the word of the day, after all. A wave of shyness washed over her. "It's also why I don't want to make any more progress in the direction of my lingerie collection tonight." She felt the need to apologize again.

"Hey, you don't have to explain. I get it." He held up his hands in surrender and stepped in close to her. "This has been a long time coming. I'm not in a rush. We can go as slow as you want." He took both her hands again and leaned closer. "You have no idea how happy it makes me that you want this, want me like this."

"Oh, Rick, of course I want you. Wanting you has never been the problem. Knowing what to do once I had you was the problem. I just think now I might be able to do it right."

He snickered and grinned at her.

"Wait. That came out dirty somehow. Let's try that again. Now I'll be in this with you for the right reasons."

He let go of her hands and reached up to cup her face with his palms, drawing her in close enough that she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. When he had her full attention, he almost whispered.

"I want everything to be right, too. After all, you only get one last first time."

And then he brushed his lips feather-light over hers. She must be imagining the little sparks of awareness fizzing out from the points of contact. And she was sure she was melting into a puddle of lust and sappy romantic mush at his feet. As he pulled back slightly, she couldn't help herself, she dove back in.

This kiss had purpose. It provoked naughty images of that little surprise number Dora had thrown in and the black lace thong and the red satin chemise. She was going to have to go back for the garter belt. Kisses like this called for short skirts and the careful and interactive removal of stockings.

He had woven his fingers into her hair, tugging her closer. She had handfuls of his sweater, reaching for skin where it met his jeans. When her fingers found flesh, firm and warm at the small of his back, he moaned into her mouth.

Without fully separating their lips he managed to squeeze out a few muffled words.

"Kate, does your request to go slow preclude making out with you on my couch until my family gets home?"

"Uh, no, not especially." Wow, that was high-pitched and breathy.

He immediately shuffled them in the direction of said piece of furniture, narrowly avoiding a lamp and an end-table and nearly catching his sock-clad toe on the edge of the shag rug. They parted briefly while he righted his balance and then he plopped down on the leather cushions and tugged her down on top of him. Why had she worn the sensible cotton stuff today, again?

He had focused his assault on her exposed skin just behind her left ear and was dangerously close to that spot that drove her—

"Oh god."

-yep, he found it. At this rate he'd have gone through every spot she knew about in about ten minutes and would probably start finding new ones.

"Rick."

"Mm hm."

His tongue was obviously otherwise occupied. He was threading his fingers into her hair again in that completely mesmerizing way, kissing his way down her neck from her ear.

"Rick, listen, don't laugh at me, but we have to keep our clothes on today." That must have caught his attention because he finally spoke, but he continued to trail tiny, soft kisses along her skin between phrases.

"All of them? Are you absolutely sure about that?"

"Yeah all of them. I'm not showing you boring underwear when I have the fun stuff sitting in my drawer."

"Are you suggesting we take a field trip to your place, Detective?" He tugged gently and she tilted her head back so he could continue along her collarbone.

"No, Castle, no field trip. Next time, I promise there will be lingerie."

"You know I really don't care about the lingerie, Kate."

"I know you don't, but now I do. I'm invested in its evil powers."

"Ooo. Underwear with brainwashing capabilities. Why didn't you say so?" He paused long enough to look up at her with the grin usually reserved for new tech-y geek toys. Then he started down her arm.

"But seriously, I'm not going to make out with you on my couch in the middle of the living room where my impressionable teenage daughter could see us if I plan to get you naked." He paused to investigate the crease of her elbow with his tongue. Damn, he found another spot. She'd forgotten that one.

"Despite my giddy boyish enthusiasm, I do occasionally have some ability to plan. For example, right now, I plan to find out if you're ticklish."

He curled his fingers into her sides just at the bottom of her ribcage and she shrieked with a surprised laugh.

"Oh, and isn't this useful, you are ticklish." He whispered against her ear.

"You'd better watch it, writer-boy. If this gets out at the precinct, my badass image will suffer. Therefore you, too, will suffer. I decide whether or not you get to see the lingerie."

He wrapped his arms loosely around her waist and returned to kissing along the nape of her neck.

"That's much better."

"I can play nice, when it's in my best interest."

She slid herself backward off his lap, on to the cushion next to him, leaving her legs draped across his.

"Hey, why'd you move? You're too far away now."

"I wanted a better angle in case you decided to tickle me again."

"Ah, but you have unwittingly given me the perfect opportunity to discover if the ticklishness extends to the bottoms of your feet."

His fingers brushed the arches of her sock-clad feet and she jerked them off his lap.

"Hey, didn't I tell you to watch it with the tickling?"

"Interesting, I'm learning so much about you this evening. And no, what you warned me about was telling anyone at the precinct about the fact that you are ticklish."

He crawled up between her and the back of the couch and stretched out. He grabbed the remote from the end table over his shoulder.

"How about we at least pretend to be watching TV in case we get caught?"

She scooted up and snuggled into his side with her head resting on his chest.

"Sure."

"And if you can reach the shelf under this table, we can even have a blanket, I think."

As he scrolled through the guide she did as he suggested and unfolded the soft green throw over them.

"Castle, why is this not completely weirding me out right now? I mean, I was nervous sitting next to you on this couch two hours ago, and now we're blatantly cuddling under a blanket. I should be running out the door right now in fear. Did you spike my pasta sauce when I wasn't looking?"

He had clicked on "The Princess Bride," and Columbo was just walking into Fred Savage's bedroom. He gestured toward the big screen with a mock-serious tone.

"Do you mind if I quote along?"

"I'll only mind if you get it wrong. And you have to let me do at least one of Inigo's tirades."

"I have fencing foils if you want to act out the duel with Westley."

"Maybe next time. I'm kind of comfy right now."

He smiled down at her and set the remote down.

"That's why you're not freaking out, Kate. We've been doing this dance for years. You already know all the steps. We're just setting it to different music, changing the tempo a bit. And now I get to kiss you on the dance floor."

She scooted up a little further to reach his lips. Before she could close the remaining distance he continued.

"And it helps that you trust me not to hurt you, even if I occasionally tickle you without your permission." Of course he did, and she shrieked again. Where was badass Kate when she needed her?

"OK, you have got to stop that. Or else I'm going to steal the blanket and go sit in the chair across the room."

"Ceasing, desisting. No more tickling for at least the rest of the movie."

"No more tickling tonight, Rick."

"How about after midnight?"

"Uh uh."

"But that's not fair; after midnight it's tomorrow."

"Do I need to point out again who is in charge of the lingerie in this relationship?"

"I need to go have a talk with this Dora woman about her mind-control underwear."

She finally leaned in and kissed him softly just as Fred asked "Is this a kissing book?"

They both smiled against each other's lips.

"The next Nikki Heat is definitely going to be a kissing book."

An hour or so later, Kate woke to the click of the door opening. She lifted her head from Rick's chest to see Alexis and Martha quietly slipping out of their shoes.

"Hey Kate." Alexis was half-whispering. "We thought you might be asleep, since I see 'Princess Bride,' but I don't hear Dad quoting." Kate carefully disentangled herself and stood without waking Rick.

"I think we both fell asleep. Your dad's still out. How was the show?"

"Oh, she was marvelous, yet again. Another stellar performance, if I may say so." Even Martha was expounding in a whisper.

"I should probably be going. How late is it?"

"It's only like, 10 o'clock."

"Don't be silly, dear. Stay as long as you'd like. My son, world's most gracious but snoring host, wouldn't want you to go while he's sleeping anyway."

"I hate to wake him up. He looks so peaceful."

"I think he was up writing until all hours last night. He probably needs the nap."

"I was going to finish reading for my class and go to bed, but if you're staying, I'll watch the end of the movie with you." Alexis looked expectantly at her. This girl must have the same capacity for forgiveness as her father. The whole bunch of them was amazing.

"OK, sure, I'll stay."

"Good. Now what kind of ice cream do you want?" Martha herded them toward the kitchen.

"After last night, I'm not sure I can handle more ice cream."

"Kate dear, one rule of this house that you must learn immediately is that one can always handle more ice cream."

"Unless you do what Dad did that one time, Grams, remember? With the gummy worms and the chocolate-covered raisins and the Sweet Tarts in the Chunky Monkey? There was writhing-not pretty, Kate. We thought we were going to have to take him to the ER to get his stomach pumped."

"Thank God for ginger ale…"

"I was just glad you thought of it. I still occasionally have nightmares about trying to get him in the back seat of a car like that."

As Buttercup floated down to Andre the Giant's waiting arms, Rick finally opened his eyes.

"Hey, it's over. And I didn't get to quote the Impressive Clergyman! Hey, and you all had ice cream without me."

"You snooze, you lose, Castle." Kate was sitting with his feet in her lap, sharing the blanket. Alexis was on the end of the couch, fighting a yawn. Martha had finished her dessert and retired for "beauty sleep," a few minutes earlier.

"How was your show, sweetie?"

"Good. The guy playing the count remembered his line tonight, for once. It was a full house again."

"You know your grandmother thinks you're going to be a theater major now and follow in her footsteps."

"We had a nice long talk about how there are already plenty of famous people in the Castle-Rodgers family. I told her it was fun as an extracurricular activity, but if I had to do it all the time it wouldn't be fun anymore."

"Smart girl."

"Sorry to be anti-social, but I think I'm going to go to bed. Thanks for staying Kate."

Castle sat up and kissed her goodnight on her way to the stairs.

"You were going to leave while I was asleep?" He turned to her in full pout mode.

"Well, it was a little strange waking up with you on the couch to find your mother and daughter peeking in on us. I figured maybe they wouldn't be comfortable with my snuggling up to you for the rest of the movie."

"But they were fine and they made you eat ice cream and they probably told you terrible, false, unfounded stories about me as I lay here defenseless." He folded the blanket and stowed it away.

"Pretty much, yeah."

"See Kate, they love you, too." He just tossed that word around so calmly.

"In fact, if you don't want to go back out in the cold tonight, you should stay. They'd love it if you were here for breakfast. I might also enjoy snuggling with you in my bed between now and breakfast, but that would just be a side bonus."

"Oh really, just a side bonus? No, I think I'll head home and sleep in my own bed tonight." She scooted over to him and gave him a kiss on his cheek.

"Want me to come with you?" He was using the puppy dog eyes on her.

"No, Rick. Slow, remember?"

"Slow, right. Would you come have dinner again tomorrow, maybe actually watch the movie this time?"

"Let me think about it. Can I let you know tomorrow?"

"Sure you can. As long as you say 'yes.'"

She kissed him on the lips this time and stood. He followed her to the door and pulled her coat out while she slipped into her shoes. This time as he slid the jacket up over her shoulders, he gave them a squeeze and whispered in her ear.

"I miss you already and you're still standing in my apartment."

"Sappiness will not convince me to stay longer."

He nuzzled his nose into her hair and found that spot behind her ear with an open-mouthed kiss.

She couldn't completely suppress the moan.

"How about this?" His tongue joined in and she had to pull away.

"Under most circumstances, that would probably convince me. How did you figure that out so fast?"

"Thorough research. I have so much more research to do, too."

She turned to face him and quieted him with another kiss to his lips, which rapidly progressed toward thoughts of her ravish-worthy underwear. She parted from his lips with a soft pop.

"OK, home. I'm going home now. I'll see you tomorrow, Rick."

He pulled open the door for her and leaned his head out to watch her walk to the elevator.

"Hey, Kate?"

She turned back to him as she stepped into the elevator.

"What?"

"Don't forget."

"Forget what?" She patted her coat pocket and heard the jingle of her keys.

"I love you."

She gave him the big eye roll, but she was smiling as the elevator doors closed. Definite progress. Silly man.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: OK folks. We've got this brief little segue and one more "T" rated chapter (with lingerie) and then we venture into the realm of "M." At that point, I'll up the rating. For now, enjoy, and feel free to find the song and tell me what you think.**

Kate examined herself in the full length mirror on her bedroom door. There was a decent chance Rick was going to see her like this tonight. It might be called "Ingenue," but as she had learned, names could be deceiving in the lingerie business.

A week ago, Dora had handed her the black silk and lace camisole and matching lacy boyshorts on a hanger. Definitely not something Kate would have picked off the rack. It seemed so simple that it couldn't possibly be sexy enough to wear for a seduction. But Dora raised her eyebrow at Kate's initial skeptical reaction. She had learned that afternoon not to mess with the raised eyebrow. She put them on without much enthusiasm, but when she turned and looked in those mirrors, with that perfect lighting and the soft music, she understood what Dora's eyebrow was getting at. And then she heard Dora call quietly through the door.

"That's for a nice little surprise under your favorite fuzzy sweater. Discovery lingerie, darlin.' Just says you're trying, but you're not trying too hard. And it's comfy to sleep in, should you unexpectedly receive an invitation for a sleepover."

This woman had magical powers. And hopefully, so did her inventory.

She was taking the master's advice, slipping on her blue Mohair sweater with the cowl neck and her softest jeans to head over to Castle's loft for the evening. She hadn't made it back over last Sunday for dinner.

After brunch with Lanie, during which the topic of conversation ranged from "Oh my god you finally kissed writer boy," to "Oh my god why haven't you had sex with writer boy?" her dad had called and suggested dinner. They tried to get together every couple of weeks since she spent the summer with him, and she'd neglected him the weekend before.

Castle pouted, but then he apparently wrote and edited two chapters of Nikki. He wouldn't admit it, but she was fairly sure they were the smutty chapters for the next installment. They'd had a busy week, with more than one body keeping them at the precinct late. And she was on call this weekend, so the likelihood of a respite from the current pace over the weekend was low.

But she promised to make their early family dinner as long as she didn't have a body on Saturday night, and so here she was, on her way for a repeat of last weekend, but with better underwear. It was early again, so Alexis could make her call time, but that meant they would have the loft to themselves for the better part of the evening after dinner.

She had a feeling this version of Saturday night at the loft would involve less talking and more kissing. And hopefully more skin. At least some skin. Not all the skin, though. She was still putting that off. She wanted that to be on a weekend when she couldn't be interrupted by a murder.

Making love to Richard Castle for the first time warranted her full and undivided attention.

And she wanted it to be at her apartment. Maybe it was because she still didn't have her full confidence back, or maybe it was because she wanted to be able to slip off into her room and change into the proverbial "something more comfortable" with her own haven at her disposal. But if she was honest with herself, it was because she wanted that little extra bit of control. She was half elated and half terrified that in taking that step, she would be ceding control of herself, heart and body and soul, to another human being as she never had before.

As she finished her makeup and re-parted her hair for the third time, she reminded herself that all of this was good, and right, and meant. She sprayed on the perfume that he had liked and that she now wore most every day, then she grabbed her ipod and headed out her door. Couldn't hurt to have a soundtrack on her way over.

She'd taken to letting Lanie send her song lists since the summer, after she had listened to all 3482 of her songs about 200 times each at her dad's cabin. She had downloaded the latest batch this morning, which Lanie deemed "appropriate for your current state of lingerie." She really should not have told Lanie about the trip to Dora's. She'd managed to wheedle, coax and eventually demand details about half of what Kate had bought. There was also a vague threat made about making her an appointment for boudoir photos unless she was taken along on the next trip, which Kate didn't doubt would be carried out.

So as she scrolled to the new playlist, she figured she'd have some sappy romantic ballads to suffer through. She saw some Sinatra, yes, fine, but she didn't recognize the first song on the list or its artist. "Sugarland" sounded like a rap star or no, she remembered it was some country band. Since when did Lanie listen to country music?

But as the low, subtle guitar and bass gave way to the vocalist's first bars, she decided this did not sound like a country song. She had pipes, whoever this woman was. And then she got it; pretty obvious really. Chorus: "tonight, tonight, tonight…" She rolled her eyes halfway, though no one was there to witness it.

But then the thrumming pulse of it built, and the vocals escalated, and something deep in her psyche must be vibrating at the same frequency as this alto because this was good. She didn't generally feel much from pop songs, but this wasn't really a pop song so much. She put it on repeat.

By the second time through she was getting chills with the chorus. She was almost to loft and she hadn't even noticed most of the drive over. She felt slightly buzzed, giddy even, as she parked and waved at the doorman. She finally took out her ear buds when she got in the elevator, but she could still hear it in her head. This was good. She needed this. She had a theme song.


	7. Chapter 7

**(Lucky 7)**

**A/N: The lingerie is real. I'll try to give enough info as I go so that it's in the first 2-3 hits on google. Look back in chapter 6 for the info for this chapter, too.**

She was going to have to go to the gym for an extra hour to work off these Castle family meals. Alexis had disappeared back to the kitchen for the "piece de resistance" after Rick and Martha cleared. Kate had already learned the week prior that she would be scolded for trying to help.

As Alexis entered carrying a beautiful meringue pie, Rick's face lit up.

"Oh, yes! Tell me it's lemon and I'll buy you a pony."

"I already told you when I was nine that I didn't want a pony, Dad. But yes, it's lemon meringue."

Kate voiced the thought without censoring it.

"Oh, that was my mom's absolute favorite. She made it on her birthday every year."

Her tone was so genuinely happy and light, everyone at the table seemed to take the comment in stride. The lightness lasted long enough for her to smile and accept a slice, but Kate's mind drifted to the board in Rick's office. She'd thought about it all week, off and on. Mostly off. She'd told Dr. Burke about most everything on Tuesday morning, including about Rick's secret. In his usual vague but laser sharp analysis, he had asked her how it made her feel, and when she said she wasn't sure, he probed further.

"How is this different than the secret you were keeping from Rick?"

"I guess they were similar, in some ways. Both of us kept secrets in order to protect me. His was just so much bigger." She let some indignation color her tone.

"Was it, really?"

"It was about my mother's case. He didn't trust me to be able to be reasonable and keep from diving in."

"Did you trust him?" This garnered a long pause.

"I guess not. Not to respect my need for time to think."

"How are you dealing with the fact that he has information on your mother's case?" Her eyes fixed on a point out the window.

"I haven't really. I want to know, but I want to have something with him that's real and that's separate from all of it." She shifted her gaze for a rare look directly into Dr. Burke's eyes. "I just don't know if I can separate them."

She'd left his office with more questions than she'd had when she walked in. She hadn't allowed herself to lay awake at night fixating. She'd just decided not to decide for the moment. But it hadn't completely left her thoughts.

By the time she came out of her haze her piece of pie was almost gone, and Alexis and Martha were rising to leave for the theater.

"One more show after this one, right?" She tried to sound interested.

"Yeah, tomorrow afternoon we have a matinee. I'm sort of sad that it's over, but I won't mind having weekends back."

"Oh, the sacrifices we make for our art!" Martha followed Alexis toward the front door.

"You guys have fun. Try to stay awake this time, Dad. Kate's gonna think you're a boring date."

Kate shouldn't have been so startled to hear that four-letter word thrown around. She should have realized that's what they were doing. It just sort of snuck up on her. Castle sensed her moment of shock, but he played it off well as he hugged Alexis goodbye.

"I'll do my best, sweetie. Have a good show."

When the door shut, Kate was staring across the room toward the office.

"So, are we really going to repeat the movie, or should we try a different one?" His cheery tone seemed a little forced.

"I don't think I'm going to be able to concentrate on a movie right now." She couldn't lie. She knew it.

He had walked up behind her. He placed his hand on her elbow as he attempted to draw her gaze.

"Want to see it?" He looked determined, but very positive somehow.

"What?" She didn't think he could possibly know.

"The board." Of course he knew. There was absolutely no reason for her to think he wouldn't know.

"I don't want to ruin tonight—I've been looking forward to being here all week." She couldn't meet his eyes. It was the truth. As recently as outside his front door, she'd had to talk herself down from pulling him out into the hallway and kissing him within an inch of his life.

"But you've also been thinking about the case." Not a question.

"Yeah." Not much of an answer.

"I offered. I meant it. We're going to do this sometime." He reached down to take her hand, pull her to his office.

"We are."

"Hello?" Alexis called from the front door.

"Anybody home?" Martha's voice came from the same general direction.

The light from the smartboard was enough to shine through into the living room, and it must have alerted them to Kate and Rick's presence in the office.

"Hey. We're just going over a case, actually."

Alexis approached, and Rick stepped out to meet her before she could enter and see the display. Kate peered out through Derrick Storm spines to see them.

"Grams came with us when the cast went out afterward. Sorry I didn't call."

"Actually, I'm a terrible father. I didn't even notice what time it was."

"Excellent. Wish I had no conscience, I might have gotten away with it."

"You were with your grandmother, Alexis."

"Dad, you know that only makes it worse."

"True. Did you ladies behave?"

"Only enough to keep us out of jail, dear. We didn't want Kate to have to get involved with getting us out at this time of night." Martha was already headed up the stairs as she answered.

He kissed Alexis on the forehead.

"I'm going to bed. See you in the morning?" Alexis shot a hopeful glance toward his office.

"Yes. Pancakes?"

"I want bananas."

"Chocolate chips and bananas." He extended his pinky finger in her direction.

"Deal." She mirrored him and some sort of pinky shake happened out of her line of sight.

Alexis called toward the office as she headed up.

"Goodnight Kate, sleep well." Well that was either overly presumptuous or overly perceptive of her. Kate wasn't sure which, yet.

"Goodnight Alexis."

Rick returned and closed the door behind him. Kate was standing, holding the smartboard remote, staring. It was the pose she'd held for the better part of an hour. Rick had gone through everything in meticulous detail. Then they'd rehashed the timeline, spun theory. They'd both lost track of time. Midnight had come and gone by the time Alexis and Martha interrupted.

"You know everything I know."

"I know."

"Yes, you do."

She gave him a rueful grin.

"I'm done for now. I want to be done, for now." She clicked the remote and shut down the board.

"It's getting late. We should get some rest before your phone rings."

She deposited the remote on his desk and turned to leave.

"OK, I'll head out. I'll call you if a body drops."

Her forward progress was halted by a firm hand on her shoulder.

"No, you won't."

He stepped in behind her and placed his other hand on her other shoulder, then drew her back against his chest, his lips at her ear, breath on her cheek.

"If you go home right now, one of two things will happen. You will either lie awake all night, staring at the ceiling, going over everything we just talked out, until Esposito calls you to a scene, or you'll fall asleep and have a nightmare." He wrapped his forearms around her shoulders, pinning her closer to him. She could feel the warmth radiating off him in waves.

"How do you know about my nightmares?" Why should she be surprised at what he knows anymore?

"I've had them too, especially if I have this stuff in my head." He tilted his head in the direction of the board. He sounded resigned. She'd never known he had nightmares. She should have realized.

He rocked forward and gently pushed her in the direction of the door to his bedroom.

He flicked on the light switch, lighting a bedside lamp, then pulled the door closed.

As much as she tried to mount arguments for going home, sleeping in her own bed, not waking him if she got a boring call, she'd never seen his room before, and she couldn't help looking around. It was very… Rick. And there were elephants. She wondered how long those had been there.

"At least if you're here, we can wake each other up."

He turned her in his arms and suddenly his face was so close, his eyes so blue and piercing, and he gave her this heartbreakingly tender look. He whispered against her skin as he brushed his lips feather light against her cheek, her forehead.

"And frankly, I think we both deserve some sweeter dreams."

When his lips brushed hers, she felt herself falling, off a cliff, into the deep, past the point of no return, into the kiss, into him. Her hands were in his hair, brushing down his neck, across his shoulders, down his chest. Her fingers were working buttons undone before she'd even realized what she was doing. His hands had found the hem of her sweater and snuck underneath, brushing the edge of black silk. That snapped her out of her pheromone-induced haze enough to pull back from his lips.

"Rick, I don't want to do this tonight. It's…" He switched tactics and started in with wet, hot, open-mouthed kisses on her neck, pausing briefly to speak a few words.

"I know… you're on call. When we do this for real… phones will be off… and the outside world… better not expect to hear from us for at least a day… and a half." He got to that spot behind her ear and she felt her knees start to give way just as he abruptly halted his assault. "What is this?"

He pulled back to look down at the two inches of silk and lace he had revealed as he slid her sweater up.

"I did promise you lingerie the next time."

A beautiful, devious, awestruck smile washed over his features.

He watched her intently as she reached up and continued unbuttoning his shirt, tugging the tails out from his jeans and sliding it off his shoulders. As she made quick work of his belt buckle, he inched the sweater higher, revealing the black camisole and the panels of wide lace running down her stomach, showing just enough pale skin to give him ideas. At least, that was what she hoped. She surely had ideas at this point-wonderful, awful ideas. God she wanted all of him and she wanted it now. What could it hurt? Damn it, no. She had plans for that night, whenever it was, and it wasn't tonight. Damn it. But she certainly had his full attention.

His eyes were transfixed on that ever-increasing swath of silk, as the sweater's hem neared the swell of her breasts. His palms were flat against her sides, fingers reaching around her back, thumbs shoving soft blue fabric. When they met the seam of the camisole and then made contact through the silk with her nipples, she lost her hold on the waistband of his jeans. His thumbs brushed lightly, and finding them already pebbled from arousal circled more firmly, eliciting a moan. That noise seemed to spur him on, and he slid the sweater up and over her head, drawing a shiver as he slid the sleeves down her arms.

His eyes followed the wide openwork lace straps of the camisole down to the sweetheart neckline. He held his fingers over the lace, seeming to hesitate. She inhaled and her chest expanded pushing her skin into his touch. And then his fingertips were caressing along the straps and across the neckline and over the silk between her breasts, so light it was impossible for her not to want more—more pressure, more warmth, more of him. He traced the two panels of lace down her ribcage to the waistband of her jeans, and her skin rose in goosebumps. He unfastened and unzipped and was sliding the denim down her legs so gently, she almost didn't stop to think that he was seeing her nearly bare for the first time. He knelt to tug the jeans off each foot, then slid her socks off one at a time, letting his fingers linger along the edge of her ankle, the instep of her arch.

As he rose to stand, he slid his own jeans off, leaving him in boxers and his white undershirt. And then he took a step back and took her in. Starting at her toes, he left no inch of her wanting for his gaze. The look on his face was so full of love and meticulous intensity that she didn't feel cheap or objectified as she had in so many bars before some many men. He was committing her to memory.

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips when he reached her black lacy underwear. It left almost nothing to the imagination, since the lace panel stretching across the front was nearly see-through. She hadn't given in to the urge to cover anything with hands or crossed arms. She was giving all of this to him; he might as well see what he was getting. He finished his appraisal, pausing at her waist and breasts, and finally fixing on her eyes.

"I believe in mind control. Kate, you and this underwear are going to kill me."

That broke the spell. She cackled at him, with a big, toothy grin, and fell into his arms, kissing his collarbone.

"Consider this a preview."

He wrapped his arms around her and scratched the silk covering her spine lightly with his fingernails as he trailed his lips over her curls.

"Come on, I have a new toothbrush for you in the bathroom." He released her and tugged her by the hand.

They brushed their teeth in front of his mirror. She was watching him, self-conscious about being a messy brusher, when she caught his eyes on her in the mirror. They locked for just a split second, and both of them smiled silly, shy little smiles. After they took turns rinsing and he handed her a towel, she was smiling again.

"What?" He wiped his mouth on his own towel.

"Nothing." She shifted her eyes away but couldn't hold in the smile.

"You're smiling. Something's going through that head of yours." She met his eyes again.

"I just love you, that's all."

She was ridiculous, telling him now, smiling, with tears in her eyes, staring him down in his bathroom mirror, in their underwear. His eyes closed for a beat. She saw his chest expand. When he opened them again, he had turned to face her. He reached for her hands, intertwined their fingers. No more indirect reflections.

He looked so incredibly happy. She felt an inordinate sense of pride for inspiring that look on his face. She vowed to put it there as often as she could.

"Kate, you're going to make me cry…" his voice broke as if on cue on that last syllable, but he swallowed hard and continued "…and then how am I supposed to maintain my rugged, manly image?" He tugged her into his chest and kissed the top of her head. She felt his warm breath blow out against her scalp. He let her hands go and framed her face with his palms, pulling her back from his chest. He did have tears in his eyes, but the smile was still there—bigger, even, if that was possible.

"I love you so much, Kate. I don't know if you can understand how much. I didn't understand how much until just now, I don't think."

"Let's go to bed, Rick."

He nodded and let her walk past him toward the bedroom, but as she passed, he caught her up in his arms, wrapped them around her waist and hauled her up off her feet, her back held tight against his chest.

So unlike the other time they were in this pose.

He made a deep humming noise, almost a growl, and staggered slightly as he carried her out to the bedroom. He put her down at the side of his bed and turned back to switch off the bathroom light. That gave her enough time to turn and catch him, lips and tongues and teeth working over and into and against each other until she stopped caring about air.

He held her tightly against him and then laid them both down on the bed without parting his lips from hers. He reached behind her to pull down the covers and then separated from her briefly, rolling away to the far side of the bed to turn off the bedside lamp. She shamelessly followed him, wrapping her arms around his chest and hooking one knee over his hip when he turned back to her. She found his lips again and swallowed his moan as her body made full contact with is. His hands found silk and lace and all sorts of interesting edges where they met skin.

"You sure you can't just ignore the damn phone just this once if it goes off?" He was trailing his tongue over the junction of her collarbone and her breastbone, one hand sliding down her waist, over her hip, and gripping her lace-covered cheek to pull her more firmly against him.

"Funny, I was just thinking the same thing. But no. Gotta be responsible." She ran a hand over his chest until her fingers brushed his nipple, forcing a gasp from his lips.

"Why?" He ran his hand further down the back of her thigh to the crease of her knee, tugging it higher over his hip and aligning things that were only going to make her frustrated with underwear on. And the crease of her knee was another spot, apparently. She groaned.

"Because it's what I do. And if I don't do my job, some other poor detective who isn't even on call has to get dragged out of bed in the middle of the night. And that's just not fair." She trailed her hand over his shoulder and along the flexing muscles of his arm.

"And what part of being wrapped around you, with your sexy lingerie and your perfect lips and your hair spilling down, but not being allowed to make love with you until we fall into an exhausted, sated, glowing, babbling heap of loose limbs and gasping breath, is fair, exactly?"

"I forget sometimes that you get paid to write, and then you say that."

He chuckled against her ear, and then ran his tongue along the tender edge.

"Impressed with my substantial prose, detective?"

"Among other substantial attributes, yes." She rotated her hips against his.

He rolled to his back and pulled her half on top of him, breaking their most intimate contact, but still keeping her close.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"Good." She kissed the tip of his nose and laid her cheek on his chest.

"I'm glad you're here."

"So am I." Her hand was rubbing circles softly against his chest as his fingers traced figure eights on her back. They lulled and soothed each other away from that frenzied rush of desire, leaving just the tenderness to carry with them into sleep.

A while later, maybe minutes, she was drifting off, taken by exhaustion from the late hour and the emotion of rehashing the case, but she didn't want to fall asleep without making sure.

"Hey Rick?"

"Hmm?" He must have been nearly asleep as well.

"Don't forget."

"Wha—what?"

"I love you."

She felt him inhale. He was certainly awake now. He squeezed her tighter against his side and spoke into her hair.

"Do me a favor?"

"Sure."

"Remind me every once in a while, just in case?"

"I will if you will."

"As if I could keep my mouth shut about it now."

"Good point."

"So, yeah, I love you, Kate." She snuggled against him and sighed. Less than a minute passed before he leaned forward and whispered directly in her ear.

"I love you." She shook her head and grinned in the dark against his skin. Maybe twice as much time elapsed in silence.

"Just in case it was fading in your memory, I love you."

"Oh god, what have I done…" She rolled her eyes even though she knew he couldn't see.

He chuckled deep in his chest, and she felt the reverberations in her own.

As she sank into the warmth of his arms and the velvet of his voice, as he whispered those words she'd fought and feared for so long, she knew why she'd been so terrified. She could never walk away from this and be whole ever again. But maybe that was because until she found him, she wasn't really whole to begin with.


	8. Chapter 8

**Enlightenment 8**

What in God's name had she been thinking, wearing arguably the single sexiest item from her top drawer to work on a Wednesday? She obviously hadn't been thinking at all; she'd been wrapped up in feeling, emoting, gushing—things Kate Beckett just did not do. At least not until she had spent the night cuddled with Rick Castle in his bed two weekends ago.

Since that Sunday morning, full of warm hands and soft kisses under his covers, followed by coffee and pancakes with his daughter and mother in his kitchen, she had been a wreck. A wreck by her own stoic emotional standards, that is. She was fairly sure Rick would consider her tendency to daydream, nightdream, and otherwise generally fixate on the feeling of being held in his arms to be progress.

The call from Esposito had come in around 10:30 that Sunday morning, just after pancakes, and the bodies hadn't stopped since. Her team was running on empty. Even Castle had decided to skip out on them for a few days, supposedly to write, but she suspected he was sleeping after their latest case.

A photographer for the _Times _was found dead in her studio, and her death was subsequently linked to the murders of three of her photographic subjects from the week prior. Castle was the one who ultimately put together the final piece of the puzzle, as he was so often apt to do. He called in contacts in the photo department and figured out she had a fan on the staff. An obsessive-compulsive bipolar photography tech had been stalking her for months in secret as he adjusted the brightness and color balance of her photos for print. When he found out she got engaged, he went off his meds and started killing the people she photographed out of misplaced jealousy. He confessed to killing her when he went to confront her about his feelings. Now he was at least back on medication, committed pending psych evaluation.

That case closed late Sunday, and the boring pop-and-drop from the following day was wrapped up this morning. Now all she had to concentrate on was a large pile of paperwork and a tiny pair of panties that just would not quit reminding her of her lack of contact with Castle outside of the precinct in the past week and a half. Not that their progress had been reversed—he grabbed her hand in the empty elevator, he kept his palm on her thigh when she was driving, he kissed her goodnight if they left the precinct together. But other than those stolen moments, they hadn't had any alone-time. It was probably for the best, since they both would have passed out within ten seconds of hitting a soft surface, be it bed or couch at either of their places.

But something made her put on the dark green Italian lace bra and matching thong this morning under her green button-down and brown leather jacket. This was the non-bedroom, underwire version of the bra, so it qualified as semi-work-appropriate. It's counterpart triangle bra, still sitting in her drawer, with the matching Brazilian panties, made her wonder why she had never heard of La Perla before visiting Dora. Her sudden desire for naughty undergarments this morning might have had something to do with a certain dream she'd woken from just before her alarm beeped. She needed to stop imagining what Naked Rick would feel like when he hauled her back against his chest as she tried to roll out of bed in the morning. T-shirt-clad Rick had felt amazing. Arrgh. This had to stop.

"I'm going to grab lunch, guys. Do you want something?"

Ryan and Esposito were buried under their own piles of paperwork, but both immediately perked up at the prospect of food.

"Whatever, boss, not picky."

"I'll fill out all your Monday perp papers if you bring me a cheesesteak, Beckett."

"Back on your crazy cleanse diet, Ryan?"

"No, but Jenny decided red meat was bad after she watched a DVR'ed Dr. Oz episode last week, and now we only eat chicken, turkey, and fish, white fish."

"Really bro? You should have told me. I'd have taken you for burgers at least."

"I'll go to Remy's and get you a cheesesteak. Do you want one, too Espo?"

"Extra peppers and onions."

"I'll be back in a few."

She was waiting at the counter for their meals when her cell phone buzzed in her jacket pocket.

"Hey Rick. How are you?" She hoped that didn't sound as needy to him as it did to her.

"I miss you. I've been thinking about you all morning."

"At least I'm not the only girl in this relationship."

"Ha. Very funny. You must not be at the precinct."

"No, actually I'm grabbing lunch for the boys and myself. I'm at Remy's."

"Say hi to Marge."

"Castle says hi." Marge smiled and called a little louder than necessary toward her phone.

"Hi Ricky. When are you coming to see me?" He laughed in her ear.

"Well, she was handing me my to-go bags." She spoke apologetically into the phone.

"Tell her I'll see her tomorrow for lunch, at least if that's ok with you."

"He says we'll be here tomorrow." Marge nodded and waved, then turned back to box another to-go order.

Kate headed back out into the cold toward the precinct, phone tucked close to her ear to block the wind.

"So I guess that means you've done enough writing for the week?"

"I've already exceeded the quota of love scenes for the next Nikki Heat. If I stay home, I'm going to start writing a romance novel."

She chuckled lightly. Nice to know she wasn't the only one writing love scenes in her head.

"So, I actually had a purpose in calling you this fine afternoon."

"Really? Other than just hearing my lilting and dulcet tones in your ear?"

"Oh, Detective, very romantic. Would you be interested in writing a romance novel?"

"Only with you, Rick."

"I want to take you out this weekend. No school plays. No mother and daughter chaperones. A real date."

"Oh. Well, that would be… really nice, Rick." He wanted this to be the weekend. That's what he was really asking. He knew she wasn't on call, and he was nudging.

"I know you aren't so excited about the prospect of being a headline on page six, so I have a non-paparazzi place in mind. Saturday night. I'll pick you up at 8."

"That sounds really good, Castle. What should I wear?"

"Something nice, but not red carpet or masque ball or anything. We'll save that for another time."

"Okay…"

"Good. Great. Okay, I'll see you tomorrow." He sounded relieved, like he thought she might have said "no."

"See you tomorrow."

"I love you, Kate."

"I haven't forgotten."

"Neither have I."

After she clicked off from the call and tucked her phone back in her pocket, shifting the to-go bags into both hands, Kate narrowed her eyes and smiled mischievously. This underwear really did have mind-control capabilities.

"Listen, I'm glad we found you a gorgeous dress and all, but if you don't show me what else you're planning to wear tonight, I will confiscate that couture and you're gonna be wearing jeans on this 'nice-but-not-red-carpet' date of yours."

Lanie had both eyebrows fully raised as she stood in Kate's bedroom, watching her hang up her new purchase. They'd had brunch, including two mimosas each, which Kate now realized were strategically refilled in order to make her more susceptible to her friend's probing lingerie questions. Afterward, Lanie insisted upon taking Kate to "some real shopping." Three hours later, Kate had a dress that she thought would meet up to Rick's expectations. It certainly met up to Lanie's.

"How do you know I'm wearing anything else tonight?"

"Oh, Kate, I'm proud of you. Touche." Lanie grinned an evil little grin at her and sat on the end of her bed.

"I'm kidding. I'm wearing something under this. I'm just not sure what yet." Kate sat beside her, staring at her dresser.

"Wait, I thought you had this whole thing planned… This is it, right? You've spent a whole month staring off into space fantasizing about writer-boy's biceps and building up expectations about making love to the man. You'd better not chicken out on me—I mean on him—now."

"I'm not chickening out, believe me." She took in a slow, measured breath and shut her eyes.

"You're nervous! Who are you and what the hell did you do with the real Kate Beckett?" Lanie smacked her on the knee.

"When did the sexy, empowered, uninhibited woman who once bragged to me about handcuffing Dr. Motorcycle Boy to her kitchen cabinets and having her wicked way with him for _four hours_ on a Tuesday turn into June-Fricking-Cleaver on her wedding night?" Kate glared but quirked the corner of her mouth up.

"I always thought June Cleaver must have been kinky in bed."

"That's beside the point. You know what I'm getting at. This is Castle. You've been making eyes at him for more than three years. He's seen you at your best and your very worst. Compared to dying frozen in his arms or dismantling a dirty bomb, a night on the town followed by mind-blowing sex should be a piece of cake."

"That's just it. I have no doubt I could have mind-blowing sex with anybody else, regardless of whom they were or how I felt about them. But with Castle, it seems different, bigger somehow."

"Sweetie, with his reputation, I don't think size is going to be a problem."

"OK, dirty mind, you know what I meant. This is special."

"Kate, I know it is. I've seen it building for years, and especially since last summer. You two mean something to each other. But that's not supposed to make things harder—I don't mean it that way, so don't even go there—it's supposed to make all of it easier, better, more about how you feel and less about the mechanics. You're going to knock his socks off in a burlap sack at this point. So get out of your own head and let me see this damn lingerie."

When she turned the doorknob to let Rick in, her hand was shaking. She took a deep breath and called upon her pragmatic mantra of "It's just Castle," to steady her.

The first thing she saw was his smile, closed-lipped and giddy, nose tipped down just slightly, eyes sparkling.

He was in a charcoal suit with a plum-colored button-down, no tie. And she wanted to rip it all off of him before he'd even made it inside.

"Pick a hand." He had both behind his back.

Kate couldn't help it, she giggled. Blame it on nerves, but really she was just laughing at him, looking so ridiculously happy, like any second he was going to break into the chorus of "Oklahoma" because he couldn't hold in the joy any longer.

She pointed to his right.

"Lovely choice."

He produced a bouquet of deep red peonies.

"They're beautiful." She took them and inhaled, barely touching the tip of her nose to the soft petals.

"No, you're beautiful. They're just an accessory." He took in her black sheath dress, pausing just long enough at her hips and waist to be appreciative but not enough to be lewd.

"What was on the left?"

He held out a bottle of champagne, very expensive French Champagne.

"Maybe we can keep it cold until after dinner." He still had that smile on his face.

She stepped back from the threshold to let him in.

"There's a bucket in the cabinet next to the sink that you can ice it in."

He went for that, opening the freezer for ice, while she reached up to a high shelf for a vase. It all seemed so surreally domestic, like the pancake-making a few weeks before. They had their way of interrelating down even in kitchens, it seemed.

When she had a vase filled with flowers and he had a bucket of ice and champagne, they left both on her kitchen island and he stepped toward the door.

"Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be, I suppose."

He stepped in close and took one of her hands, holding it up against his chest.

"Can you feel that? That's what you do just standing next to me in your kitchen, Kate."

She did feel his heart beating fast, his breathing expanding his ribs a little deeper than necessary for fetching ice from the freezer.

She stepped in to wrap her arms around his neck and he hugged her tightly against him.

"I love you."

They'd both said it at the same time. So ridiculous.

How they had spent three hours over Italian food and red wine better than any she'd had in Manhattan at a place that could best be described as a 5-star hole in the wall was beyond her. But she felt looser, calmer, a little bit more like herself as she walked back across the threshold of her apartment door. She'd laughed and bantered and smiled. He'd been Castle. There was no sudden appearance of the playboy, or the serial dater, or the professional flatterer. Why she'd thought any one of them might shine through on this night, their real first date, now escaped her entirely.

When she flicked on the lights and slid off her coat, taking his to put both on pegs on her wall, it didn't occur to her to be nervous. She stepped out of her heels and immediately dropped four inches in height. Her floor was freezing.

"Does it feel cool in here to you?"

"I'm okay, but if you're cold, by all means, turn up the heat."

"It's just my feet, actually. Promise not to laugh?" She cracked open her bedroom door and stepped just inside, flicking her eyes back and forth from the floor to Rick's mildly confused eyes. There was no way she would do this with anyone else in a fancy dress on a first date, but listening to her mantra, this was just Castle.

"Scout's honor." He held up two fingers.

"That doesn't count if you weren't actually a scout, Rick." But it was good enough. She slipped her feet into her brown fuzzy Ugg slippers and stepped out from behind the door. His eyes lit up.

"Ooo! I love those! I have the black ones, and I got some for Alexis and Mother for Christmas last year."

She smiled to herself and scuffed to her kitchen. He followed and reached for the iced champagne.

"Shall I do the honors?"

"Sure." She was crouching down to find flutes in her cabinet. She'd had a set of champagne glasses since she replaced her kitchen, but she hadn't used them yet. She decided they needed a rinse.

Turning around to grab her dishtowel to dry them, she saw Rick had it loosely wrapped around and over top off the champagne bottle. She grabbed another from a drawer and dried as he held on to the cork and turned the bottle. A soft sigh signaled the opening of the bottle.

"No pop?"

"It's not supposed to pop if it's cold enough and hasn't been shaken or bounced around too much."

"And if it's the really good stuff."

"You are correct, Detective."

He wiped off the condensation from the bottle and reached for one of the freshly dried flutes. She couldn't help the pleased little grin that crept across her lips as he poured two perfect glasses and handed her hers with a flourish.

"Had some training as a maitre de? Or just working behind the bar at the Old Haunt?"

He emptied the bucket and refilled it with fresh ice and water as he explained.

"A little closer to home, actually. After my first book came out, the publisher sent me this fantastic, expensive bottle of champagne. I was ready to pop the cork and bathe in it, but Mother snatched it away from me and said not to "mishandle or abuse this glorious treasure" until she'd had a chance to show me "how to properly treat a grande dame of oenology."

He replaced the bottle and grabbed the bucket and his glass to follow her to the couch. They each took a cushion. He dipped his head toward her and held out his glass. She gently clinked hers to it.

"To a new chapter for old friends."

She smiled and sipped. God this was fabulous. There was something to be said for the really good stuff. This called for caviar and a jazz band. Oh, she should have remembered that before they sat down.

"Excuse me for a second." She circled her coffee table into her office and pulled up iTunes. She clicked to her jazz playlist and turned the volume up just enough for the speakers to be heard in the living room. When she came back out, Rick had slipped out of his shoes and hung his jacket over the side of the couch. He had his arm draped over the back in the spot she had vacated. She sat and retrieved her glass, then scooted to tuck herself against his side. His arm came fully around her and his fingers stroked along the skin of her upper arm. He turned to her and locked eyes before leaning in slightly toward her ear.

"So are we done being cordial and pleasantly distant and pretending to be cool now?" His voice was low, and rougher than she would have expected from their previous light conversation.

"Why, do I make you nervous, Castle?" she teased, sipping her champagne.

"So it's 'Castle' now, is it?" He pulled back just a bit and raised an eyebrow.

"You were the one who pulled out 'Detective' a little while ago. I'm just following your lead."

"Well, in that case…"

He set down his glass and placed hers beside it, then settled back beside her and brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheek. She leaned into his touch and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, he was leaning in, watching her expression. She could feel him exhale against her lips. His eyes spoke volumes about love and desire, fear and certainty. It was time for certainty.

She closed the distance between them and touched her lips gently to his, eyes open, still watching. She pulled away just enough to part their lips as she wrapped an arm around his neck and threaded her fingers into his hair. He pulled her against him and continued the gentle caresses with his mouth, lightly brushing against her lower lip, the corner of her mouth, and then finally properly pressed her into a kiss. All restraint abandoned her. She parted his lips with a swipe of her tongue and explored his warm depths. His tongue tangled languidly with hers, seeming to ignore her desperation, forcing her to slow down.

She could just make out Coltrane over the buzzing in her ears. He had pressed her back into the couch cushion behind her, and now he was gently stroking her hair along her temple, soothing her with hands and lips and tongue. He pulled away just as gently, touching his forehead to hers. She opened her eyes to see his were dark and fixed on her own. Both seemed to consciously slow their breathing as she slid her hand from his hair to caress his cheek. Now or never.

"Rick, I'm going to go freshen up." She hoped it sounded steady but feared her voice shook as much as her knees were sure to when she tried to stand.

He shut his eyes and sat back, grabbing her hand for a squeeze as she rose. Never had she been more grateful for not having on her heels. She took her glass with her, thinking it might help her channel a bit of Dora while she changed. Closing her bedroom door behind her, she headed into the bathroom and took care of necessities first, then stood and reached behind her back to unzip her dress. He wouldn't see the black lace strapless bra she'd worn under it, but the matching lace string bikini panties would go with her "something more comfortable."

She went to her closet and hung the dress, then slid the chemise and robe off their hanger: black silk and satin, nothing overly dramatic or naughty really, just soft, and subtle and clinging in all the right places. The neckline dipped low in the center—he'd be able to see that scar, but the robe tied high in the front, so he wouldn't see it right away. The only truly sheer chiffon on the gown was bunched in little gathers over her bust and in two soft layers making up the hemline.

As she slipped it over her head and smoothed the fitted, lace-framed satin bodice over her waist and hips, she thought back to how Dora had known she was thinking of Rick the very first time she put it on. She smiled and had a sip of champagne, holding it first up in the air in a silent toast to the woman she had come to consider her friend. She slid on the sheer black robe and tied it in a looping bow, then stepped back for one last look in the mirror.

Good lord, she was going to make love with this man. She spent a moment on one silly, romantic gesture she'd never bothered with for anyone else—she lit all the candles she had set out that afternoon on her bureau, windowsill, and bedside tables. Her hands were shaking so badly at first, she almost couldn't catch the wicks, but by the time she made to the last one her hands were steady. This was right. She was ready. She flicked off the light switch and left the room lit only by the candles.

When she cracked her door open, the first thing she noticed was that the lighting had changed out there, too. The main lights were off, and just the track lighting above her bookcase and her painting illuminated the room. He was standing by her coffee table, facing away from her, studying "Moonlight." Miles Davis was wafting out the office door.

"I can't decide if she's running away from doomsday, or headlong into it." He spoke softly but didn't turn to look at her.

"She might be standing still, caught up by the wind, waiting to see which way she's blown." Kate padded on her bare feet to the edge of the rug opposite him and paused. He seemed to sense her lack of motion and turned.

And "speechless" it was, at least for a moment. He took a visible breath, let it out slowly.

"God you're so beautiful." He had a little smile on his face, like he couldn't quite believe this was happening. Or maybe that was just her, projecting again.

He stayed where he was but held out a hand.

"Dance with me?"

They met in the middle, and he took her right hand with his left, raising it to cradle it against his chest, tucked between them. His other arm wrapped around her waist, and she placed her hand on his shoulder. He looked at her with such adoration; she couldn't help but smile back and sway softly with him. After a song, maybe it was two, she rested her cheek against his shoulder and closed her eyes.

"Kate?" His voice was soft and deep, near her ear.

"Hmm?"

"You're not, I mean you haven't really got any place to put it, but I've been fooled before."

"What are you talking about?"

Still so smooth and quiet with his tone.

"Your gun, you don't have it on you, do you."

Her eyes popped open and she raised her head to look at him quizzically.

"No, Rick, it's locked up in my bedroom."

"Good. So at least I know you can't shoot me for this."

He released her hand and reached down, catching her behind the knees and lifting her into his arms. She clung to his neck out of self-preservation, really, not because of any Rhett Butler fantasies she might have harbored as a teenager. But as she relaxed into his arms, she did let out a little "oh." She recovered her composure enough to give him a sly smile, and in her best bedroom voice, she avowed progress.

"Take me to bed, Rick."

"As you wish."

**A/N: Dear readers, do you want this story to become "M" rated? Or will I lose everyone if I convert the rating? I can post the remainder of this chapter as a separate story as M, or I can keep going and convert this story's rating. I fear a serious drop in readership, and if you've stuck with me this long, you get a say. I don't like leaving a needy author's note, but I saw no other way, so thank you in advance for your indulgence.**

**If you want to see the chemise, search "Jane Woolrich 3267". Couldn't find a photo in black, but you'll get the idea. Searching for Beckett lingerie has been so much fun; it's really ridiculous how much time I've spent on "research" for this story!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Enlightenment 9**

**A/N: If you missed the M-rated chapter, it is listed under a separate story entitled "Enlightenment Extra: All Lit Up." If you won't be reading the M chapter, I'll try my best not to leave any holes in the plotline where we pick up in this chapter. Further M chapters will be appended to "All Lit Up." There will likely be a Chapter 9.5 there in the next few days. Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed or favorited/alerted these two stories. Reviewers, even if I missed writing you directly, please know how much I appreciate the feedback. **

When consciousness finally overtook Kate, she knew three things immediately without even opening her eyes. One: she was naked in her bed. (She never went to bed naked, not even after sex, and certainly not after a shower after sex, but as she had recently discovered, sex with Rick was its own new category in her catalogue of experiences). Two: Castle was also naked in her bed. (He was wrapped completely around her and she had recently become acquainted with what his naked skin felt like against hers). Three: She'd had the most deliciously fantastic, ridiculously sigh-inducing sex of her life last night. (She had erupted into a fit of euphoric giggles after her first org—)

"Stop thinking so loudly, you're disrupting my peaceful snuggling."

And people said she had a bedroom voice.

Her eyes opened and took in the sun streaking through her blinds, the clock on her bedside table reading 8:17, the curve of his bicep as his arm flexed over her shoulder to tug her more firmly back against his chest. She turned her head back over her shoulder and caught sight of his cheek as he pressed his nose into her hair and inhaled.

"How did you know I was awake? I hadn't even opened my eyes yet."

"Your breathing changed. And then you made this cute little sighing noise and wiggled your butt back against me."

Now he just sounded gleeful.

"I did not."

"Would you like me to set up a snuggle cam so I have proof? I know this guy who does nanny cams—"

"Absolutely not."

"Fine, then you'll just have to take my word for it. You're a sighing butt-wiggler just before you wake up."

She turned in his arms to lie on her back so she could look him in the eye as she poked him in the arm.

"I am not, and if you say one word of any of this to anyone—"

"You'll what? You can't kill me now that we had the most absurdly amazing sex of our lives."

Her eyes widened.

"What? You seriously want to tell me that wasn't the best sex you've ever had? I've never had sex like that before, all mind-reading and soul-baring and love-making. Besides, you know I can tell when you're lying."

She couldn't pull off the angry and offended look when he'd admitted the same thing she'd just been thinking. She half-smiled and rolled her eyes instead.

"Fine. Yes. That was the best sex I've ever had. Happy now?"

"Yes, actually, I am."

He kissed her quickly on the lips and smiled his cheesiest grin.

Maybe he'd forgotten about the giggling. God she was so mortified now that she thought back on it. She'd never done any of these stupid things—sighing and giggling and butt-wiggling—with anyone else, why did she have to start acting like an idiot when she was in bed with Castle?

"And I learned something new, well lots of things really, but one especially useful new thing about you last night."

Oh God there was more? Something she'd forgotten? She could feel the heat rising up her neck into her cheeks.

"The sexiest sound I have _ever_ heard you make was that euphoric little giggle. I mean your laugh has always completely turned me on, but now I'm afraid you're going to laugh at Esposito and Ryan being ridiculous and I'm going to have to drag you off to the nearest supply closet and rip your clothes off."

Leave it to him to fix everything in two sentences. She blinked once and looked back up at him with a sultry little smile.

"It's my new goal in life to make you laugh like that at least once a week for the rest of your life."

Okay, three sentences. She launched herself at him kissed him full out, morning breath be damned.

He moaned into the kiss and was already on his way to round two when her stomach growled very loudly.

He laughed into the kiss.

"I think I may need to feed you before round two."

"Maybe if we ignore it, it'll go away."

On cue, another loud growl, this time from him. Now she laughed.

"Or not."

She gave him one final peck on the lips and hauled herself off his chest and out of bed. She dug in her drawer for pajama pants and some slightly boring underwear, then leaned over to snag his t-shirt from where it had landed on the floor near the end of her bed. When she turned back to him, he was propped up, head on one hand, just watching her with a smile on his face.

"Do we have to put clothes on?"

"If we want to actually eat breakfast, probably."

"Spoilsport."

"I'll be right out."

She used the bathroom and brushed her teeth, put on the PJs and braided her hair. As she started to reach for her makeup drawer, she looked back in the mirror. In for a penny, in for a pound. She wanted real, well, real didn't involve eyeliner at 8:30 on a Sunday morning.

She opened the door to find her bed empty. Stepping into her slippers, she heard noise from the kitchen. As she stepped out into her hallway, he called to her nonchalantly.

"Kate, I think someone broke into your apartment."

"What? What do you mean?" She scanned the room quickly, and was about to turn back to her room for her gun when he continued.

"They didn't take anything, but they stocked your fridge. I've never seen so many non-takeout items in your kitchen before."

He was whisking eggs in a bowl as butter melted in a skillet on the stove. He had on his boxers and had apparently decided that if she was going to wear his shirt, he was going to wear one of hers. He must have dug the extra-large NYPD long-sleeve she'd gotten for running the precinct 5-K a couple of years before out of her bureau. Her shirt looked good on him. But she was miffed, yes, that's right.

"Very funny, Castle. Don't joke about things like that on my day off! I was about to go for my gun."

He just smiled and focused on whisking. Secretly she was proud of herself. One benefit of planning ahead was the opportunity to grocery shop the morning before the morning after.

As she sat down on one of the stools at her kitchen island, she noticed two champagne flutes full of what looked like orange juice, each with a strawberry on the rim. Wow, he was going all out here.

"What is all this?"

"We can't let the rest of that champagne go to waste, Kate. My mother would sense it from across town and show up here."

"But we left it out. It can't still be good, all warm and flat?" She eyed the glass closest to her warily, but she saw bubbles, so she lifted it and took a small sip.

"I put it in the fridge last night. You had a stopper in your drawer. It was either do menial chores or go completely insane waiting for you to come back out."

He poured the eggs into the pan and grabbed a spatula to scoot the edges in.

"I found ham and cheese—not exactly haute cuisine—but will it do for fuel?"

"Rick, you made me a mimosa with a strawberry. You're cooking me an omelet."

The coffee maker gurgled to signal it had finished brewing. She gestured toward it with one hand.

"You made me coffee. No one's ever made me this kind of a morning after breakfast, no matter how good the sex was."

He tapped his spatula against the edge of the pan, then set it down and grabbed his glass, circling to stand beside her. He tapped his glass to hers and they both took a sip.

"Mmm. Not bad." He looked at his breakfast cocktail with pride, then looked back at her with his best boyish grin. His tone was light, matter-of-fact, as he answered the question implied by her prior statement.

"Sure, but none of the others was the love of your life."

She sat there shocked and more than a little bemused as he kissed her quickly on the forehead and then skirted back around to flip the omelet. He held up two packages of shredded cheese.

"Swiss or cheddar?"

She was silent for a beat, opened her mouth to say something, couldn't figure out what, and closed it again. Since she couldn't formulate a reply to the first comment, she went with answering the question.

"How about some of each?"

"I like the way you think." He sprinkled a liberal helping of white and yellow cheese on the eggs in the pan.

"Please tell me we're sharing that thing." She'd been open and honest for the past twelve hours straight. That had to be a record. She deserved to evade one topic.

He added the ham and folded the golden fluffy circle over.

"I hope so, because I'm not sure I can be polite and give you this one while I'm making one for me. I'm now officially starving."

She stood and poured coffee for each of them, grabbed silverware and paper napkins, and set it all on the island. He pushed down toast in the toaster for a second go-round, then split and plated the omelet. She grabbed strawberry jam from the fridge and honey from her spice shelf and added them to the spread, sitting down and taking a sip of her mimosa.

He popped the toast before it singed and halved it, then put it on their plates, then set her feast before her and his at his spot. As an afterthought, he spun back to get the orange juice and champagne from the door of the fridge, finally circling around to sit beside her.

"What?"

She was smiling, taking a bite of her strawberry.

"Nothing. This looks fabulous." She cut into the omelet with her fork and took a gooey, cheesy bite.

"Mmm. This tastes fabulous. I may not let you leave."

He narrowed his eyes at her and raised an eyebrow.

"Then my evil plan has succeeded. I've always thought the way to your heart was through your stomach." He dug in to his own plate of food.

"If you keep feeding me like this, you're going to have to start going running with me."

"Oh, and you ruined it for me."

"I don't mean today, don't worry."

"Speaking of today, when do you need me out by?" He was concentrating on his eggs, trying to play it off as a casual question, but she heard the undertone. He was steeling himself for disappointment.

"I distinctly remember the phrase 'when we do this for real, the outside world better not expect to hear from us for at least a day and a half' coming out of your mouth a couple of weeks ago. That would mean you're not off the hook until eight AM tomorrow, by my calculations."

He put down his fork, took hers out of her hand and put it on her plate, stood and grabbed her around the waist, pulled her up and kissed her full on the lips. He pulled back and searched her eyes, then asked in a soft, awestruck voice.

"Really? I really get you for the rest of the weekend? Just us?"

"Yeah, Castle, don't act so surprised. I want to be with you. I'm sorry I haven't done a better job of telling you so." She reached up and kissed his cheek. She smiled up at him. "You don't need an evil plan to stay with me, though I'm never going to tell you not to fix me a five-star breakfast."

He hugged her tight against his chest and spoke so quietly it might have been to himself.

"I'm already getting used to this." He squeezed tighter. Her ribs were pulling a bit, but she wasn't about to complain.

"You're not the only one. Though at some point we will get tired of each other. You're going to want to write and I'm going to want to take a bath and read a book or work out." He kissed the top of her head and spoke into her hair.

"I see no reason why all of those can't be accomplished while maintaining physical contact with each other."

"Okay, Rick, let me eat my breakfast before it gets cold, and then you can hug me again afterward."

"Promise?"

"Yes, I promise."

He let go and turned back to his plate, shoveling in eggs and toast and slurping down coffee.

"I have no desire to Heimlich that omelet back out of you when you inhale it." He stopped eating and turned to her with his kid-in-a-candy-store face.

"You can do that?"

"Part of the job. CPR certified, the Heimlich maneuver, all that."

"It's kind of like a hug, when you think about it."

"Eat your breakfast, sappy-Rick."

Half an hour later, the dishes were done and he'd retrieved the paper. She had the Arts section on her end of the couch, and of course he had the Sunday Book Review over in the corner of the "L" on the other end.

"Patterson's still number six with that co-authored thing."

He folded down the edge of the page in her direction.

"You know he asked me to co-author. I told him I didn't think I could give adequate attention to Nikki Heat and also start a new set of characters."

"You mean adequate attention to me, of course."

"Of course."

"Do you regret it now? Sounds like their book's doing pretty well."

"Not for a second." He leered at her. "You require my full attention, Detective."

She traded out for the crossword and grabbed a pencil.

She scribbled in a few words and then got stumped.

"What's a 12-letter word for 'Show of affection'?"

"Oh no-ho-ho you don't. You can't start the crossword without me."

"I'm not starting without you, I just asked you for a word."

"You are incorrect on so many levels. A: you cannot use me for the hard words and then take credit for doing the crossword. And two: it's called a puzzle for a reason—I can't participate unless I can actually see the puzzle. Come over here."

He refolded his section of the paper and laid it aside, waving her over toward him.

"Rick, you're being ridiculous."

"Stop arguing and get your non-best-selling-author butt over here."

She stood up and moved to sit beside him.

"Uh uh. Right here in front of me so I don't have to crane my neck and look at it all sideways."

"Seriously?"

He just raised an eyebrow and scooted further into the corner so she could sit in the v of his legs.

"What is that? A pencil? You cannot do the Sunday Times Crossword with a pencil. I expected better from you, Beckett. This requires commitment. We need a pen."

"But what if I want to change an answer?"

"Commit. No waffling."

"Fine." She went to her office for a Rollerball, and while she was in there she turned on her Beatles playlist on iTunes. She showed him the pen, then sat down cross-legged in front of him and leaned back against his chest, holding the paper up where he could see it over her shoulder.

"First of all, what are you doing trying to fill in a 12-letter clue when there are tons of easier ones you could do? Look at 3 down: starts with an 'L,' drink with foam on top. Lager. That gives you a letter in the middle of your long clue."

"Yeah, but you can't switch and go down like that. I always go through all the across clues and do the ones I can answer, then come back and do the down clues."

"But it's so much harder that way. Let me introduce you to the wonder that is the cluster method."

"I don't know, Rick. That sounds kind of kinky…"

"Oh, yeah, Miss 'I can do this thing with an ice cube' and "Next time without the tiger.' I am so not the one with the dirty mind in this relationship. I wouldn't mind seeing the ice cube thing, though. Maybe later, since now that we've started, we have to finish this."

"If I had known this was going to cause so much whining and complaining I'd have kept my mouth shut."

"And miss out on the fun of playing word games with a wordsmith?"

She rolled her eyes and uncapped the pen to write in "L-A-G-E-R."

**A/N: I am quoting this Sunday's New York Times (2/19/2012). No copyright infringement intended.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Enlightenment 10**

She slid the top drawer closed just as the door opened behind her. She could always tell before the bell announced it—the knob made such a lovely old click as it turned. This was a new face. Handsome, nervous, but slightly familiar somehow. Monday mornings were for apologetic husbands and brand new boot-knockers. No ring, so she guessed the latter. He was looking the place over pretty well, must not have noticed her yet.

"Well, good morning. I'm Dora. What can I help you with today?"

He turned to her with a disarming smile. My, but isn't he cute as a button with that smile on his face? He stepped over to her and she held out her hand.

"Nice to meet you, Dora. I'm looking for… something. I'm not exactly sure what. Maybe you can help me figure it out?"

"Well, that's what I'm here for, darlin.' Is this for your wife?"

Well, wasn't that a telling, shy little "I wish" of a shrug.

"No, not married."

"A new lady in your life, then?" His eyes narrowed, like he wasn't quite clear on his answer.

"She's not exactly new; I guess it's sort of complicated."

And suddenly she remembered where she'd heard those same hesitant, slightly bumbling words before. This was the infamous Fresh Start.

_Well, Katie-girl, you sure can pick 'em_.

"So did you have a thought about what sort of present you'd like to get her? Something in the general direction of, I don't know, some nice bubble bath?" She walked him over to a display of bath products and opened the top of a tester. Always best to start a skittish one with things that do not suggest how much skin he wants her to show.

He sniffed at the bath gel, looked like he might be considering, then turned to look at a rack of corsets and garter belts.

Well, side step strait-laced, and sashay on into lace-up. Things must be going well.

She motioned toward the rack he was eyeing.

"Of course, if you'd like something a little more, personal, I have some beautiful items over here."

His gaze scanned the room and landed on a table covered in boudoir bras and matching undies. Maybe he was just easily distracted. She could probably guess exactly what was distracting him, and it most likely involved at least one of her very own selections for Kate. She wondered whether he'd seen them all yet. She had to assume he'd at least seen one—the one Kate spent so much time deciding on at the end. That girl had first time jitters written all over her face when she'd put on that sweet little nightie. Looked like a bride planning her wedding night. This far-away look Fresh Start had on his face was starting to make her think he was a very recent addition to Katie's bedroom…

"Actually, she has some really pretty things. She got some of them here, just a few weeks ago. She mentioned how great this place was, and I'd read about you in the paper a while back…"

"So you thought you'd come on by. I'm so glad you did. Now, tell me, honey, what's your name?" Otherwise she was going to make a royal mess of things calling him "Fresh Start" to his face…

"I'm Rick Castle."

That's why the face was familiar: book jackets. She'd been collecting his since before she left Texas. Oh good heavens, this meant her little Katie the homicide detective must be Nikki Heat! To think, she picked out Nikki Heat's trousseau… Oh, she had to stop thinking about it or she'd have to find the smelling salts. Professional business women did not get giddy as a schoolgirl just because millionaire novelists and their muses shopped in their stores. She hadn't been this nervous fitting her Texan First Lady for those red fishnet stockings and matching garter belt.

"Well, Rick, maybe if you tell me a bit about your lady-friend you'll jog my memory."

And she could figure out if those stars in his eyes and that dreamy little smile had honorable intentions. She might have only known Kate for two hours, but there was something about her, so pretty and strong but still humble and shy underneath, that made her want to protect her like family.

"She's tall, long brown hair, green sparkly eyes." He seemed so excited just to get to talk about her. "She doesn't always smile, but when she does, it'll stop your heart." Oh, he was a goner—off the cliff, over the moon. There was no other way she could interpret that smile. "And did I mention she's completely gorgeous? Really, like movie star gorgeous."

"Is that what she does for a living?" If she was going to snoop like her aunt Lurlene at the Junior League Ladies Luncheon, she might as well do it right.

"Oh, no. No way. She's a cop, a homicide detective for the NYPD. She's so tough and brilliant and strong." Well, there was no question now, it was her.

He was sort of drifting off into the clouds for a moment, but he caught himself and turned back to her when she laid a hand on his arm and spoke.

"I think I remember this detective of yours. No nonsense on the outside, a kinda tough nut to crack, but sweet as she can be once she gets to know you? She was here maybe about a month ago? Katie was her name, right?"

His eyes softened when she said her name, and he smiled.

"She's not easy to forget."

"No, you're right about that, Dora." He winked at her conspiratorially. Oh, he was just so sweet she could eat him with a spoon!

"I know she liked coming in here to pick out her own things, and I know she's going to come back. I wanted to get her something different. Something pretty, but something she can relax in. Something soft, like a robe, or…" He was scanning the displays again.

That woman had a figure most men would be dying to put into the littlest, teensiest, least comfortable bits of silk and lace she had in her store, but this one want wanted to keep her warm and make her happy.

_Good girl, Katie. You found the right one._

"I think I may have just the thing. Follow me."

She led him to a rack on the far side of the room. Not the showiest merchandise, and not typically what her customers came looking for, but these were some of her very favorite pieces.

"Oh, I bet she doesn't have any silk pajamas. This is perfect." His eyes lit up and he reached out a hand to feel the satiny fabric.

"Now, she would probably buy the black ones, but I know she would have tried on the royal blue ones three times before she finally convinced herself to get black. Here's her size. You can get her the long-sleeved now and if she likes them, come back and get the short-sleeved ones when it warms up."

"Perfect." He grabbed the hanger from her.

"Now, what else, Rick?"

"I'm afraid she'll glare at me if I get her something else. She has a thing about not letting me get carried away."

"I think I could see her saying something like that, what with her independent streak and all. Stick with me. We'll ease her into getting spoiled."

"I like you, Dora."

"I like you, too, darlin.' We're gonna get along just fine."

A/N: Hope you like how they met. Short chapter, but it stands alone nicely I think. Thank you for being so sweet with all the reviews. -KC


	11. Chapter 11

Enlightenment 11

How could a day be simultaneously so glorious and yet such an utter Monday?

Kate signed the very last form from the previously very large pile on her desk and stacked it with the others in her outbox. The precinct was mostly deserted now, a little after nine with no active case to work on. That was only thanks to her team's well-honed efficiency, with a small contribution from the utter stupidity of the drug dealer who wiped his crime scene clean of prints but failed to notice his bookie kept a hidden camera in a potted plant behind his desk.

She missed Castle.

Her opinion of herself had been alternating all day between pathetic and proud. As much as she was embarrassed by the fact that her thoughts kept drifting to this morning, and last night, and yesterday morning, and Saturday night, she was secretly glad that she still had it in her to be so… happy.

After so much unhappy, so much neutral and numb and stifled, she hadn't been sure that she could feel this kind of unrestrained joy. But steadily over the course of the weekend with Rick, she felt the cracks forming. And once they were there, the feelings just started flowing out through them, widening them until sometime in the dark of the early morning what was left of the wall around her heart burst open from the inside.

It had woken her from sleep, an hour before her alarm. She was lying on her side, facing Castle, sharing the pillow that in the course of two brief night had become his. His pose mirrored hers, but he was still soundly sleeping. A wave of something like love and rightness, freedom and desire, mixed with a wisp of dark, needful possession, rose inside her as she looked at him, and she couldn't help herself. She leaned in and gently kissed the tip of his nose. She wasn't trying to wake him, just to assure herself that he was real and warm beside her.

His eyes flickered immediately and opened before she could back away. He reached forward and kissed her softly on the lips. They'd wrapped themselves around each other and made love again, slowly, gently. Neither had said a word—they relied on the sounds of breaths held and gasped out, the widening of eyes and the fluttering of lids, the curve of a neck or the arch of a back or the grasp of seeking fingers to guide their movements. And they hadn't taken their eyes off each other until their heart rates were slowing and the beads of perspiration were cooling on their foreheads.

As they lay dozing together, she stopped fighting and just let all of it pour out of her. She tightened her grip around his chest and let the tears leak out. He stroked a warm hand over her back, seeming to understand that there was nothing wrong, that these tears were about catharsis, not catastrophe. He did break the silence though.

"I love you, too, Kate."

She just nodded and sniffed ungracefully against his chest.

Her alarm had sounded a little while later, and by the time she was drying her hair, a sense of peace had overtaken her. He drank a cup of coffee with her and told her he might stay home today because he wasn't sure he would be able to keep his hands off her at work quite yet. She got the call about the bookie's body just after they kissed goodbye at her car. They hadn't made any plans to see each other, and she assumed he needed to spend time with his family after being gone for most of the weekend.

But now, more than 12 hours later, she was cursing herself for several things. The first was her ridiculous reflex to wear sexy underwear this morning. Really sexy underwear. As in, underwear not likely designed to be worn by a homicide detective to work sexy underwear. Green, lace, and boudoir were all accurate descriptors of the bra. The little tag on the underwear just said the name of a South American country. She'd been so stupidly happy and riding on a wave of sated lust when she went to her top drawer, she'd thought it would be a great idea to wear these and think of Castle.

Which brought her to the second thing she was cursing herself for: thinking about Castle non-stop all day despite the fact that she couldn't bring herself to call him. She wanted to not be the needy woman looking for reassurance. She wanted to not be the love-sick teenager who wanted to be with Castle all day, every day. She wanted to not be at work anymore.

She was putting on her coat, convincing herself that it would be really good, really necessary, for her to have an evening alone to herself when her phone buzzed.

"Hey."

"Still hard at work?" God, she had actually missed his voice. Reaching new heights of pathetic here.

"Just finished up, actually. Did you get some writing done?" She grabbed her keys and started toward the elevator.

"No, not really. I kept staring off into space thinking about you. But I made dinner with Alexis and the three of us watched a movie, or I should say made fun of a movie while it played in the background."

"Sounds like fun." She could picture all of it now that she'd experienced it in person.

"So, did you eat dinner?" She stepped off the elevator and headed for her car.

"No, I was going to eat some of our leftovers from Chinese last night." He'd ordered a mountain of food; she had leftovers to last at least a couple of days.

"I have a better idea." A giddy little ball started building in her belly.

"Really… now what would that be?"

"I have half a pan of spinach and mushroom lasagna and a bottle of Pinot Noir with your name on it. Wanna come over?" So he was just as smitten as she was. He'd been the one brave enough to admit it first, so she wouldn't torture him.

"Actually, yes, I do." To his credit, he didn't gasp in shock. At least not out loud.

"Excellent. And, just to be clear, can you stay with me tonight?" He said it with such hesitance, all the same doubt she'd struggled with.

"Yeah, I'll stay. You just might get woken up if I get called on a body."

"Small price to pay to get to wake up next to you." Now the smile was back in his voice.

"Okay, can we stop being sappy now so I can get in my car and get over there already?"

"Hanging up now."

She smiled to herself and climbed in her cruiser. They were ridiculous, but at least they were ridiculous together.

Kate had eaten her dinner on the couch with the news on for background noise. Rick was having a glass of wine with her and dragging details about the day's case out of her between bites. The lasagna was phenomenal. She'd eaten way too much in the past two days. As she put her empty plate down on the coffee table and picked up her glass of wine, she looked at him with narrowed eyes.

"That's it, I'm going running every day for the rest of this week to undo all of your feeding."

"Does this mean I have to go with you?" He glared back at her.

"You don't have to do anything, but if you wanted to run with me, I wouldn't say no."

"You know, we have been getting a lot of exercise in the past few days. I'm not sure you really need to run, too." He took a sip of his wine and scooted closer to her, reaching his arm around her shoulders.

"Hmm. Well, Rick, if you think you can commit to a regular regimen. I'm pretty religious about my workouts." She was in full Beckett innuendo mode now, eyebrow raise and all.

"Oh, I can be religious about this kind of workout. Believe me." He leaned in and spoke those last two words directly into her ear. She shivered, but she thought she did an admirable job of covering it with a shrug of her shoulders.

"And I tend to like at least one extended session every weekend, to build my endurance." She slid her eyes toward him.

"I would think round three on Sunday would probably qualify…" He nuzzled her ear as he breathed the words against her skin.

"I was counting that as three and four." She enumerated with her fingers. He pulled back slightly and looked offended.

"There was only half an hour in between!"

"Okay, fine, I was just giving you the benefit of counting an extra round." She couldn't suppress the smile as she teased.

"Keeping track that closely, huh? Now that I know, I'll have to set myself some goals…" He dipped his lips toward her neck and pressed an open-mouthed kiss against the tendon there.

"Goals are good. Never hurts to have goals." She was rapidly losing the power of speech thanks to his friendly lips and accommodating tongue against her skin. Just as quickly as he'd lit into her, he pulled back.

"Ooo. I almost forgot. I, uh, got something for you today."

He looked almost shy when he said it, almost worried. He rose and walked to his office, then returned with a rectangular shirt box wrapped in blue paper with a white ribbon.

"Rick, what did you do?"

"I was thinking about you. Besides, you can use these. Even tonight."

"Okay…"

She tugged the ribbon off and pulled off the paper, folding it methodically. She removed the lid and brushed the tissue paper aside to reveal blue satin. She took out the top and held it up in front of her.

"Rick, these are beautiful. Where did you get these?"

"That's for me to know, and you to find out, someday."

She laid the top out on the couch next to her and pulled out the pants. Underneath was a pair of matching underwear.

"Want to go try them on?"

He was sitting one cushion away down the couch, smiling slightly and fingering the satin of the pant leg that was dangling near his hand.

She raised her eyes to his and pursed her lips.

"Not really."

"You don't like them?"

"Oh, I like them. I'm just thinking maybe there should be one more step in between getting undressed and putting on my new pajamas."

She refolded the silk and replaced it in the box, grinning coyly.

"Detective Beckett, I love the way you think. I'm going to go clean up the kitchen and turn off the lights. Why don't you meet me in the bedroom, and we can figure out the proper order of things."

As he reached the kitchen with her plate and their wine glasses, Alexis appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Oh, good, you're still awake."

"Did you finish your paper?" She padded down and into the kitchen next to him, elbow-deep in soap suds at the sink.

"Yeah, just proofread. Are you sure you don't need help with the dishes, Dad?"

"You were the director of lasagna cooking and assembly. I am the executive producer of clean dishes."

"Okay, but if you screw up the in-sink-erator again, I am not explaining to the plumber how a rubber glove ended up stuffed completely down the drain."

She kissed him on the cheek and then turned toward the sofa, where Kate was standing, watching, unabashedly amused by their exchange.

"Hi Kate." She crossed over toward the couch with a cryptic look on her face.

"Alexis, that lasagna was fantastic. I just ate about half the leftovers."

"Hey, I helped with that, too." Rick whined from the kitchen, where he was loading the dishwasher.

"Why do I have the feeling you mostly chopped and stirred?"

"So what? Chopping and stirring take skill!"

"Thank you, Kate. Nice to know my culinary skills are appreciated." Her attention was drawn to the box on the couch. "Oh, those are pretty. Dad, where did you find those pajamas?"

"He's keeping it a secret."

"I'll work on that." She raised an eyebrow conspiratorially toward Kate.

Alexis stood somewhat awkwardly, handling the satin of the pajamas briefly between her fingers. She looked up at Kate through her lashes. When she spoke, it was obvious that she meant her words for Kate's ears only. With water and the garbage disposal running in the kitchen, it wasn't all that difficult.

"I'm glad you're here, Kate."

Kate matched her quiet tone.

"Thank you. I'm glad to be here."

She stepped over to Kate and hugged her, wrapping her arms around her waist and squeezing her tightly. Kate hugged her back, despite her surprise at this sudden show of affection.

"You're making him so happy." Alexis was almost whispering against her shoulder. "He loves you so much."

"I love him, too." She squeezed Alexis a little tighter, sensing there was something more. "Are you okay?"

She didn't speak, just nodded her head against Kate's shoulder. After a second, she pulled back slightly, arms still around Kate's waist, moisture pooling in her eyes. Rick had started singing like the Swedish Chef from the Muppets while gesticulating wildly with soap suds and spoons in the air.

Alexis glanced toward her dad, and when she seemed assured he was not listening, she whispered out:

"Just promise me something, Kate. Promise me you'll stay. If you're angry or scared or hurt or whatever, you just can't disappear. I can't make plans to leave for school unless I'm sure I won't have to pull him back up again like last summer."

Why was she having this conversation with Rick's 18-year-old daughter? She hadn't even had it with him yet. But somehow, knowing this young woman, seeing her fight for her dad and grandmother outside a bank, watching her parent her dad on a weekly basis and humor her mom whenever she came to town and yet stick by all of them against the world, it made more sense this way. Kate reached around for Alexis' hands and held them tight. She kept her voice low as she tried to give an answer that stood up to the question.

"Alexis, I don't have a crystal ball. But a few weeks ago, something changed. I've loved your dad for a long time, but I didn't think I was ready, I didn't think I was good enough yet, to share myself. I didn't want to let him in because I knew once I did, that would be it. We'd never get rid of each other. And I didn't want to saddle you or him or anyone with the version of me that couldn't love anyone back.

"But one thing about me that you need to know, if you haven't figured it out already, is that when I make up my mind, I'm the most stubborn, pig-headed person you'll ever meet, except for maybe your dad. I can't go anywhere. I won't. This is where I want to be, as long as you and your father will have me."

Alexis was looking at her with her dad's eyes. It was completely unnerving, but simultaneously familiar and almost comforting.

"Kate, you don't have anything to be worried about on our side. I don't care what may happen in the future, my dad's been yours from about ten minutes after her met you. I wasn't sure you felt that way about him. It bothered me a lot, really, but now I see you're just different from us, and from the people he's cared about in the past—you don't have your heart on your sleeve.

"But I can appreciate now that that doesn't mean you don't give your heart away. I know you're in this with him. I don't care if you marry him, or move in, or just date him forever. All I want is for you to take care of him, and let him take care of you."

She couldn't help herself, she pulled Alexis in to her chest, stroking her hands up and down her back. Something deep inside her made Kate want to make promises to this girl and keep them.

"You are an amazing woman, Alexis Castle. And I promise you I will do everything in my power to take care of your family."

"And let us take care of you."

She smiled against the top of her head.

"And let you take care of me."

She got a squeeze in return.

"You give good hugs, Kate."

"I learned from my mom."

"I learned from my dad."

"So do I—every day."

Alexis pulled back then, looking Kate in the eye.

"See you in the morning." It wasn't a question, at least not anymore.

Kate felt all the right things shifting in her, in Alexis. She answered with what her mom had always said when she put Kate to bed.

"Sleep tight. Dream well." It just seemed right. She hadn't heard those words since the last time her mom had said them to her, but somehow saying them didn't make her want to cry. Something to think about later.

Alexis walked back to the kitchen, where her dad had started the dishwasher and was draining the sink.

"I love you, Dad."

He leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek without covering her in soap suds from his rubber gloves, and she whispered, but not quietly enough that Kate couldn't hear:

"Keep her."

"I intend to, pumpkin."

A/N: Very steamy 11.5 coming up on the M side of the story. Hope to have it for you soon, and hope that the somewhat vague intimate references in this chapter did not push past the boundary of "T." If so, please tell me and I will know for the future. You are all so lovely with writing me reviews and favoriting this story. Makes me want to keep this crazy little post-ep / lingerie lark going. -KC


	12. Chapter 12

**Enlightenment 12**

**Another quick one. There is an 11.5 over on "Enlightenment Extra" in case you missed it. More lingerie is coming—I haven't forgotten it. **

"Where's Writer-Boy?" Lanie looked up from her clipboard as Kate entered the morgue.

"I didn't bring him. We're not attached at the hip." She thought that might have come off as a bit short.

"What's got you all snarly and mean today?" Lanie put down her notes and circled around the autopsy table toward Kate.

"I'm sorry, Lanie. Nothing. I'm fine." She'd actually come down here by herself on purpose. Castle had volunteered to get lunch for the team, since they were in the middle of a case, and Kate hoped Lanie could talk her out of her bad mood.

"You do not sound fine. You sound freaked out. Or at least your version of freaked out, which sounds like most people's mild annoyance. Spill. What did he do?" She put her hands on her hips, in full girlfriend protection mode.

"He didn't do anything. He's great. We're great." She didn't think she sounded very convincing.

"I'm missing something here, obviously."

"That's the problem. It's been two weeks. Other than the one time I had to elbow him in the elevator for grabbing my ass, he's been perfect at work. No stupid macho posturing, same banter, not doing what I tell him to any more than usual."

"Again, missing something here…"

"I love his family. He came to brunch with my dad and me over the weekend. He hasn't proposed or asked me to move in or bought me any over-the-top presents."

"Silk pajamas are nice." Lanie crossed her arms over her chest.

"But not moon property or my own Ferrari. We haven't spent a night apart in sixteen days—even the all-nighter for that double last week—he stayed here with me."

"So what you're saying is, there _is_ no problem, but you've conveniently manufactured a mental one to make yourself feel more comfortable."

"Never mind, this was a bad idea. Tell me what you have on the body." Why did she think the biggest cheerleader for the progress in her relationship with Castle would possibly be a voice of reason…

"Hold your horses. I'll be serious. So you're spending all your free time together. You're together every day at work. Is it that you're feeling suffocated? Too much of a good thing?"

"No, I want to be around him. All the time." She sighed and paced away from Lanie. "What's the matter with me?"

"Kate Beckett, you are a smart woman, but sometimes you can be more emotionally clueless than Perlmutter. " She dropped her voice to a whisper when she said his name.

"Ahem. I can still hear you when you whisper that loudly Dr. Parish." His brisk, nasal voice called out through the door of his office at the back of the morgue.

"Not if you weren't eavesdropping on our private conversation, Sidney," she called back over her shoulder.

The sound of his door snicking closed echoed in the mostly metal and glass room.

"Snoop-worse than my grandmother. Now, as I was saying, I love you, but sometimes you're dense. You're in love with Castle. This is what happens when you're in love with someone."

"It's never happened to me. I'm not sappy or needy or any of those other clichéd things that usually make me want to throw up around other couples."

Lanie raised an eyebrow with a half-smile, as though Kate should be coming to some obvious conclusion.

"Maybe you've never really been in love."

"That's ridiculous. Of course I have been." She pushed a hand through her hair.

"You just said you never mooned over any of them, never wanted to spend every minute with them, never sat staring off into space thinking about them when you should have been concentrating."

"Hey, I never said I stared off into space thinking about Castle." She turned back to glare at the ME.

"No, but I've seen you doing it."

"Oh." She couldn't very well argue, since it's exactly what she'd been doing at least once a day if he wasn't in the same room. Not enough to interfere with her job or distract her if she was working a murder, but it had certainly slowed down her paperwork.

"I think you've finally got it bad for someone who loves you just as much. And you skipped all the awkward getting-to-know-you parts because you had three years of foreplay to work most of it out."

Kate just narrowed her eyes at her best friend.

"This is not going to last forever. You're going to get tired of each other and want time alone. So you should enjoy this part—it's why people like falling in love. All the right neurotransmitters get released and you get addicted to each other. It's brain chemistry, I swear. Learned it in endocrinology. That was about the only thing I enjoyed learning in endocrinology… But if you want to take a break for a night, I'll take you out this weekend. We can find unsuspecting drink-buyers at Lilium. Or Cedar Walton is at Birdland."

"I'll think about it."

"Let me tell you about the body. I don't have much, but I have one thing that might help."

He'd looked a little perplexed when she told him she didn't think she would come over for _Raiders of the Lost Ark_ and Moroccan food. But she had to give him credit—he hid any disappointment well. She'd eaten leftovers, taken a bath, changed her sheets and then settled into bed with Patterson's latest around ten. She was still on page two at 12:48 when her phone buzzed on her bedside table.

"Hey there. How was Indiana Jones?"

"Almost as witty and ruggedly handsome as me, as usual. How was your night?"

"Quiet. Just reading _Private Games_."

"You're cheating on me with Patterson?"

"I'm not cheating on you. But I've read all your books already." She marked her place and set the hardback on her night stand.

"Why aren't you asleep, anyway?"

"I don't know. Too wired, still, I guess. I could ask you the same thing. You were up early with me with the body. Are you writing?"

"No, I just can't fall asleep. I stared at my ceiling for a while and then I gave up."

"Gave up on what?"

She heard a soft knock on her front door.

"I gave up trying to fall asleep without you."

"Rick, is that you at my door?"

She was out of bed and down the hall before he had a chance to answer.

He was holding his phone away from his ear when she opened the door.

"You came over."

"Kinda. Yeah."

"Kinda? You're standing outside my door at one in the morning wearing pajamas and a coat. How is that 'kinda'?"

"You couldn't sleep either, could you?" He squinted at her slightly.

"I was reading." She was annoyed with him for showing up. She was also annoyed with herself for being ridiculously glad he'd showed up.

"I'll bet you a week of lattes that you haven't gotten past page three."

She stepped back to make space for him to walk past.

"Well, are you coming in or what?" Infuriating man. Way too cute with bed head for his own good.

He stepped past her and she locked the door behind him. When she turned to head back to bed, he was facing her, standing in her way, coat off and already hanging on the peg on her wall.

"Are we going to talk about this?" Oh crap. He knew there was something up.

"About what?" Maybe if she played dumb, he'd give up.

"About what has you freaked out." This was Castle, persistence was his best virtue.

"I'm not freaked out." When all else fails, deny everything.

"Okay, then let's talk about why we were both lying in beds across town from each other and not sleeping."

"I just wanted a night to myself. I'm allowed to have a night alone." She had to work on getting that guilty, defensive tone out of her voice when she was telling half-truths.

"Of course you are, but I got the feeling that this wasn't because you wanted to give yourself a pedicure and spare me the fumes." He glanced down at her bare toenails. "Besides, if you just wanted to have a night to read a book alone, you wouldn't be so worked up." He reached for her hands and grasped them loosely.

"I'm not worked up." He started backing toward the bedroom door, tugging her with him as he spoke.

"I can tell when you're lying—now better than ever. Okay, fine, don't admit it. I'll just guess."

He was in a quiet, serious version of theory-building mode now.

"You're worried because you think we're spending too much time together. You're afraid you're getting too used to my being around. You're trying to prove to yourself that you can be content spending the night alone. And now you're even more worked up because you've realized that you actually miss me, and that you wish I were here."

He wasn't sounding smug, just very matter-of-fact, as he dissected her psyche better than she had been able to all night. He stopped walking when they got to the edge of her bed.

"There's absolutely nothing wrong with thinking about any of that. I've been thinking about some of it, too. The problem is that you thought about it, and you got freaked out, and then you didn't tell me about any of it. Instead, you told me you didn't want to see me tonight for the first time in a couple of weeks without any explanation. And that got me freaked out."

He squeezed her hands with that admission. At least she wasn't the only one acting slightly neurotic about this. He smiled a little as he continued his speech.

"I don't like feeling like an emotional nut job any more than you do."

She raised her eyebrows to call him on his penchant for drama, but he ignored her and pushed on.

"So maybe next time, when you start getting those little inklings of, 'Uh oh, something's not right,' you could say: 'Hey, Rick. I love you and I want to spend all my time with you but it's worrying me that we're spending every waking and sleeping moment together, so maybe we should have a day off so I can prove to myself I am not one of those clingy, needy, useless females who can't be away from her man for more than an hour at a time.'

She glared at him for the last phrase, but it was exactly what she'd been trying to talk herself out of thinking about herself all evening.

"And then you and Lanie can have a girls' night and I can invite my poker buddies over, and they can harass me about how I'm spending all my time with you, and we can still end up in bed together if we want to, because there is no rule that says we can't spend almost every waking and sleeping moment together if it's making us both happy."

He pulled her toward him and she wrapped her arms around his waist, laying her cheek against his chest.

"I'm glad we had this little talk."

"You're hilarious, Castle. Really."

He just hugged her hard and kissed the top of her head.

"Well, what are you waiting for?"

He released her to look down at her, thoroughly confused.

"Take your sneakers off so you can get in bed. It's 1:30 in the morning, and I'm sleepy."

He had them off in two second flat and had taken his place under the covers. She climbed in after him and snuggled against his chest. She hoped that he'd figured out this was as close as she was getting to the admission of fault or the apology for said fault tonight.

As he reached over to turn off the lamp at her bedside, he flipped open her book to where she had marked her place with the jacket.

"Page two."

"Shut up, Castle."

"I love you, too, Kate."

He clicked off the lamp and wrapped his arms around her. As she sank into him, his chest warm, his heartbeat steady beneath her ear, she thought maybe Lanie had made the right diagnosis after all.


	13. Chapter 13

Enlightenment 13

"Castle!" She was going to kill him. She wished her gun was handy—this was bullet-worthy.

He visibly flinched at her tone and pulled his hands out of her top drawer.

He hunched his shoulders and scrunched his eyes as he turned to watch her stalk out of her bathroom wrapped in a towel.

"If I've really seen everything, then why does it matter that I'm looking in your underwear drawer?"

There was a thong looped over his thumb as he raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.

"Because, maybe you've seen almost everything. Maybe I want to have one tiny little—" she plucked the thong from his thumb, making him flinch again, and stashed it in the drawer before closing it with probably a bit too much force "—bit of mystery in our relationship. It's only been three weeks!"

He had backed away toward the door, hands still up.

"But you told me I'd seen all of it!" He was whining. She couldn't stand it when he whined.

"Lucky for you, the only thing you haven't seen isn't in my drawer."

"I was just reliving happy memories… I found that green set, and the thong, and I swear I never saw the camisole—not the one from, well, not the one I took off of you that first night, that one's burned into my brain for all time—there was another one." He had this dreamy look on his face, like he really was picturing their whole relationship so far, punctuated by encounters with her in lingerie.

"Yes, there was another one. I've worn it with you, just not by itself."

"Meaning I haven't seen it?" He looked slightly triumphant.

"Fine, you haven't seen that one. But since you saw it in my drawer, what kind of a surprise would it be now?" She put her hands on her hips and tried her best to give him the Beckett glare while dewy and flushed and naked except for a towel.

"I just wanted to figure out what you have, so I could get you more…"

Her annoyance melted slightly. He was trying to be sweet, of course.

"It's not so easy to just go buy a woman lingerie." Her hands came off her hips.

"Maybe we can go together? To that shop you liked." God he looked so excited.

"I don't know, Rick. Letting you see me in lingerie that I've already tried on is one thing. Letting you see me try on lingerie for the first time is another."

"I'd be good. I promise. Hands to myself. Sitting across the room. You wouldn't even know I was there."

"I think that's highly doubtful."

"So when do I get to see the one that's not in your drawer?" He looked around her room, like he was going to find it lying around somewhere in full view.

"I'm saving that for a special night; probably one that involves a lot of wine." There was no way she was wearing the special present Dora had slipped into her bag without some liquid courage. He may have seen her naked, but he'd never seen her in anything quite so… theatrical.

She had re-opened her drawer and pulled out a pair of boring underwear to go with her flannel pajama pants and long-sleeved t-shirt. She guessed they were past the point of sexy lingerie every night. He seemed to enjoy taking off the flannel almost as much as the silk and lace. Maybe not quite as much.

"Okay, so we'll go to Dora's together, and if I ply you with excellent wine, I get to see the supercali-fragilistic-expiali-docious thingy you're hiding from me." He quirked an eyebrow and a grin simultaneously.

"Maybe. But only if you promise never to dig through my lingerie drawer ever again."

He made an "X" over the center of his chest.

"Cross my heart."

She raised an eyebrow.

He held up two fingers.

"Scout's honor?"

She narrowed her eyes.

"I can get my lawyer to draw up a contract tomorrow!"

"You don't need a lawyer. Just know if you renege on this promise, I will tickle you—in the spot that only I know you are ticklish—until you laugh so hard that you snort." She poked a finger into his chest for good measure.

"I do not snort when I laugh."

"Last Sunday would be the most recent example."

"Snarfing orange juice out my nose is not the same thing as snorting." His indignant tone was something only Castle would pull off while claiming a distinction between spewing orange juice out one's nose and snorting with laughter. She figured it was time to shut him up. She went for 'calmly indifferent.'

"Po-ta-to, po-tah-to. Besides, you don't need to look in my drawer, since you have your own."

She quirked her own eyebrow smugly at herself for surprising him and pulled out the second drawer in her bureau, now empty.

The look on his face was somewhere between shock and gratitude, but it quickly morphed into adoration as he pulled her to him and kissed her insistently. His hands untucked her towel and it fell to the floor, which seriously delayed her in putting on her pajamas.

An hour later she was finally tugging them on as he lay panting and semi-incoherent under her covers.

"All that for a drawer?"

"What can I say, I don't do things half-way." Wow, high-pitched and breathy. He sounded like her.

"No, you do them at least two times over, typically."

She climbed back in bed and clicked off the lamp. In the darkness she could see his goofy, post-coital smile.

"In case it wasn't clear just now, thank you for the drawer." He sounded as loopy as he looked.

"Oh, it was pretty clear. Both times. You know that doesn't mean you get two drawers, right? That dresser only has six…" She had tucked herself against his side.

"So six is the new goal then." She sat up slightly at that.

"What? No, crazy sex god. We can't have a goal of six until we get to five."

"Are you suggesting we—" She snuggled back down next to him and patted his chest.

"Not tonight. It's Thursday, and we have an active case, and we need to be up early, and you're going to kill me."

"I have no intention of killing you, just temporarily disabling you, maybe." He had reached around her as she curled against him, and he took the opportunity to pinch her derriere.

"Hey, save it for the secret lingerie."

"Ooo. I am so liking this secret lingerie the more we talk about it." His hand returned to the curve of her waist, stroking gently.

"I have an idea, Castle, why don't you have a nice dream about the secret lingerie, and then tell me all about it tomorrow."

"Meaning 'shut up and go to sleep now, Castle.'"

"You've always been able to read me well."

She should have known better than to let him follow her into the sleazy motel room of their sleazy murder suspect. And now as she sat outside the ambulance, because the idiot paramedics wouldn't let her in with him, she was cursing herself for ever letting him near a take-down. She knew he wouldn't stand by and let her go into a dangerous situation without him, but hell if she couldn't have tried harder to keep him out.

They had done everything right, all by the book. She knocked, Espo kicked in the door and took point with Ryan right behind. Everybody had on vests. Gates knew where they were. She followed the boys into the seemingly empty motel room, and Castle was behind her. They even had uniforms as backup for good measure.

When the room appeared clear, Esposito went to check the bathroom and Ryan went to the open window, leaning out to see if their guy had made it out to the fire escape. Kate followed Ryan to the window. It was just after he climbed out that all hell broke loose. Six shots were fired in rapid succession.

Castle cried out and went down.

Almost simultaneously, a bullet ricocheted off one of the sprinklers on the ceiling, which immediately doused the crumpled Castle and the uniforms behind him.

She had a second of panic when she saw him hit the floor.

"Castle!"

The cop instinct was stronger, though, and the angle of the ricochet alerted her to the source of the bullets. Their guy was under the bed, shooting up at anything he could see from under the skirt around the mattress.

"He's under the bed!" Ryan and Esposito were back in the room before she even had the words out.

"Drop it! Throw the gun out Rawlins! You can't go anywhere."

He tossed the gun out and started sobbing. Uniforms dragged him out as she dropped next to Castle to assess the damage.

"I'm okay. I'm fine. It's just a graze. Surprised me is all."

The spray from the still-spewing sprinkler was diluting the red stain that had spread from the gash on his outer thigh. The bullet had sliced through his jeans and into his skin.

She immediately pressed her hand to the spot, bare fingers on bleeding flesh. She didn't exactly have a handkerchief, and if he was really bleeding, any pressure was better than no pressure at all.

"Ow! Kate! That hurts!"

"I'm trying to get the bleeding to stop."

"I swear it's not that bad!"

Esposito was already radioing in for paramedics.

Kate was drenched now, too, with Castle's blood all over her hand and clothes as she knelt against him.

"Can you walk, Bro? If so, let's get you out of the downpour."

Esposito and Ryan braved the sprinkler to each get under an arm and lift him up.

"Guys, I'm fine. If Beckett would let go of my leg, I could walk just fine."

She was having trouble releasing the pressure she was applying while blood was still seeping out. She made a conscious effort to pull her hand away, though, and they made their way out of the room.

They got to the lobby just as the ambulance pulled up out front. He really had been able to walk.

She was probably completely overreacting.

But something new, some terrifying, horrible, bleak burst of emotion had hit her when she heard him yell and fall and then saw the blood oozing out of his thigh. That day in the bank vault had been close, but still not the same. She would think about it later, after she was sure he was okay.

But the damn paramedics wouldn't let her in. So she took it upon herself to call Alexis. She thought she was going to get yelled at, but Castle's daughter just asked how bad it was, and hearing that he was mostly fine, just with a gash on his leg, she asked if Kate was okay. Again, something to ponder later.

They had caught their suspect, who was crying out his confession to Ryan in the back of one of the uniform's patrol cars when Esposito sat down on the curb next to her.

"You alright boss?"

"Yeah. I'm good." She glared over at their murderer as he let out a loud string of sobs.

"I hate assholes who take pot shots at our writer, too. Your writer."

"Our writer. But yeah, my writer."

He glanced up toward the ambulance.

"So since Gates called you into her office and reamed you out about your paperwork twice already this week, how 'bout you leave it to the professionals on this one?"

"Thanks, Espo. I owe you."

"You don't owe me. Writer-Boy owes me. I'm letting you go be Nurse Nancy for his pansy-ass flesh wound. He knows this means I get Halo, poker night, and a massively drunken birthday party at the Old Haunt."

"Nurse Nancy, huh?" She turned slightly toward him and raised an eyebrow.

"I meant no disrespect, boss."

"I'll go Nurse Ratchet on your ass if I ever hear you mention 'Nurse Nancy' in association with me again."

"Understood."

And with a nod, he rose and collected Ryan from their sobbing perp.

When Castle emerged from the back of the ambulance a few minutes later, he was a mess but seemed to be in one non-oozing piece. They had apparently cut off the leg of his jeans to get better access to the wound, which they had then cleaned and wrapped and taped with green stretchy gauze.

"Do you like the green? I thought it was cooler than plain white. If I were a Vulcan, that would be exactly—"

"Stop being a dork for 10 seconds, and hobble over to the car Castle." She stood and took his arm over her shoulders to help.

"Can I get dry clothes before we have to go back?"

"Did you give your statement?"

"Yeah, a uniform got it in the ambulance."

They'd let an f-ing uniform in and she'd had to sit on the curb? What the hell was the matter with the world today?

"Then we don't have to go back to the precinct. Espo and Ryan are doing the paperwork. Espo said something about Halo, poker, and the Old Haunt."

"Oh, so he thinks he's doing me THAT favor?" He wasn't really leaning on her at all. Maybe he just looked pathetic, one-legged blood-stained jeans and soaking wet button down and all.

"What favor?"

"You don't want to know. He's close, but not quite."

"Your place or mine?"

"Can we go to mine? I want dry clothes, and I know you have some in your trunk…"

He was whining slightly, but she guessed he deserved to at this point.

As she opened his door with his keys, he limped in front of her.

"OK, I'm officially freezing. You wanna come warm up with me in the shower?" He was making his way toward his office, looking back at her with a leer as she pulled the door closed and turned the lock.

He couldn't be feeling that bad if he was trying to lure her into the shower with him.

"Are you even allowed to shower?" She followed him, carrying her emergency bag and the sack full of bandages and dressing supplies they'd stopped for at CVS.

"Actually, not until I change the dressing, so maybe in a couple of hours. I just had some awesome images in my head of you, naked and wet with steam billowing, and me, all manly and injured but still able to ravish you against the shower wall."

"Okay, what pain meds exactly did they give you in the ambulance?"

"Ibuprofen. And some giant shot of antibiotics. Now my arm hurts, too, come to think of it."

"So save the manly injured shower ravishing for Rook and Nikki, and let's get you into dry pajamas."

He entered the walk-in closet in his bedroom and came out with pajamas and a pouting lower lip.

She just leveled her best 'don't even think about it' glare at him.

"Fine, I'll go change in the bathroom. And you're not invited." He closed the door behind him and she heard the lock engage.

Oh good grief. Prima donna. She peeled her own slacks and shirt and underwear off and put on her clean bra and underwear. As she started to pull out her extra work outfit, she changed her mind in mid-reach and instead turned to his closet. She knew he had extra pajamas and t-shirts she could wear, and she didn't think Alexis or Martha would mind, even if it was mid-afternoon.

She'd never actually been into his closet before. She flicked on the light and stared at a space that was at least half the size of her bedroom. All custom shelves and multi-height clothes racks, full of suits and freshly-pressed dress shirts, jeans, khakis, and stylish casual clothes mixed in for good measure. A few shelves of shoes, neatly polished, stacked on one wall.

And then there was a hole. A big hole. A whole rack and set of shelves was empty on the wall opposite his suits. She crossed and tugged open a drawer under the shelves, and there were her silk pajamas. Actually, there was also a set of cotton pajama pants, almost like hers, with a long-sleeved t-shirt, next to her silk pajamas.

"I didn't want to freak you out."

She jumped slightly at his voice, quiet but close behind her, but she didn't turn. She was fingering the flannel pants, noticing they were her size, not his.

"I mean, I didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable, like I was moving too fast. I just cleared out all the costumes and the summer clothes and stuff I don't really need every day and put it in the hall closet upstairs. I just did it like a week ago, but I didn't want to say anything yet. I guess maybe it's okay now, though."

Why did she suddenly have tears in her eyes? She'd made it through the ambulance and the curb and the phone call to his daughter and the ride home without so much as a well-timed blink, and now she was standing mostly-naked in his half-empty closet, clutching the green plaid pajamas he'd bought for her, and breaking down like he'd been shot in the chest, not grazed on the leg.

He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her as the first tears fell.

She couldn't be facing away from him, though. She needed to see him, feel his heart beating against her own ribs. She turned in his arms and wrapped him in a vice-like grip around his ribcage, pressing her face into his t-shirt. How could she have denied him this? She'd died right in front of him, and then she hadn't even let him see her, hold her hand, feel her heart beating. How could he have forgiven her for that? She was never going to forgive herself. Not now, not when she knew what this felt like.

"Hey, Kate, I'm okay. I'm right here. It's alright." He rubbed his hands up and down her back, soothing against her hiccoughing sobs.

"I'm so sorry, Rick. I'm so sorry."

"You didn't do this—this is not your fault. Blame the guy with the gun." She didn't expect him to follow her somewhat erratic train of thought. Sure, she had berated herself for putting him in that situation ever since he fell to the motel room floor, but that grief was playing a distant second to what she had just realized.

"No, not about today; I mean about last summer. I can't believe… I can't believe you ever came back after I…"

"Oh, Kate. You know I couldn't stay away."

"But I was so selfish. I just had no idea… And you're barely hurt… I was—"

"Kate, stop this. It's in the past."

She sniffed and took a deep breath, then pulled back to look up at him.

"But I've never even told you that I'm sorry. Rick, I'm so sorry."

He looked at her, no really he looked into her, then, hard and long and deep with haunted blue eyes he must have lived behind for months because of her. He must have seen what he needed to see, though, watery and red-rimmed as her hazel gaze must have been. He didn't smile, but the softness that she had become accustomed to over the past few weeks pushed through the sadness, overpowered it, and replaced it with quiet resolve.

"Shh. Don't be sorry. Just know that it will never, ever, happen again."

That was not a platitude. That was a command. She saw it, but more than that, she felt the conviction of his words rippling through him and into her. He didn't just mean that she would never be hurt or almost die. He didn't mean she wouldn't try to push him away. He meant he wasn't going to let her get away with it, even if she did. And maybe that was the most important thing of all.

A/N: I am keeping my Castle calendar on "February" until I finish this story. If you have one, you know why. If you don't have one, they're bound to be cheaper by now, and heck, you're reading Castle fan fiction. Buy the calendar. Disclaimer: I have no stake in the calendar, I promise. I just think February is especially inspiring. And this was chapter 13. All hell had to break loose, at least slightly. You have no idea how happy all the favorites and reviews make me. Thank you to everyone.


	14. Chapter 14

Enlightenment 14

They had fallen asleep under a blanket on the couch, curled around each other in their pajamas with his injured leg draped over hers.

When Alexis came in about an hour later, Kate roused and rubbed Castle's chest to wake him.

"Alexis is here, sweetheart. Wake up."

The endearment came out without any permission from her sleep- and emotion-muddled brain.

The magic word seemed to be 'Alexis,' as his eyes shot open and he shifted to sit up.

She shifted with him, still unwilling to let go despite the side of her psyche that yelled at her for clinging, literally.

Alexis crossed the room and knelt by the couch in front of them. She kissed his cheek.

"Hey, Dad. I hear you're gonna have a cool scar."

He smiled back at her, looking more awake every second.

"I can only hope."

"They couldn't even put in stitches because his jeans apparently scraped off to much skin."

"Ew! Too much information, Kate."

"I was sparing you your dad's much more graphic play-by-play from his time in the ambulance."

"On second thought, thank you, Kate. I'm sorry I wasn't here when you got home for the official wound inspection. Kate called me when it happened, and she said I was okay to stay in class, since it's my only one."

"I forgive you, daughter. And the paramedics did a pretty decent wound inspection. I even have Vulcan stretchy gauze to keep the bandage on. But they didn't use any Scooby Doo bandaids."

"And they didn't have the wand."

"True. You know, I have to change the dressing tonight." He raised an eyebrow with a little grin.

"I'm home all evening. Better late than never."

Kate was just staring with a bemused smile on her face through this little exchange.

"It's kind of a ritual. We started it when I was little."

"Speeds healing, relieves pain, endows the recipient with princess privileges for varying lengths of time, depending on the severity of the injury."

"Princess privileges, huh?"

"Oh, absolutely. It's totally the best part. Getting waited on hand and foot, favorite meals, extra ice cream."

"And there's the crown."

"Yeah, but we haven't actually used it in a while. We could resurrect it for demonstration purposes."

"Excuse me, Rick, you wear a crown?"

"Alexis gets a feather boa, too."

The girl was pointing at her father surreptitiously and mouthing: "He wears it too."

"I would pay money to see you in a crown and a feather boa." She poked him in the ribs.

"I think it could be arranged." Alexis narrowed her eyes with a sly grin.

"Why do I think Martha may have had some role in this?"

"She provided the crown and the boa. At least, the first crown and boa."

"I don't want to know how many there are…"

Alexis took that as her cue to change the subject.

"Speaking of Gran, she said she'd be home for dinner."

"Thank you for calling her." Kate hadn't even had to ask.

"I could hear things getting a little out of hand on your side at the end of our conversation."

"That was probably just our suspect sobbing."

"I'd figured it was Dad."

"Hey, give me some credit. I don't sob like that—in public anyway. Hey, speaking of dinner, what time is it, anyway?"

"It's only four." Alexis raised her eyebrows at the windows, daylight still shining in from outside.

"My time must be off since we fell asleep."

"There's always ice cream if you need a snack before we order dinner," Alexis offered.

Rick's eyes lit up, but he schooled his features after looking at Kate's disapproving look.

"Fine, no ice cream before dinner, even though I did get shot today."

"How about a movie and some popcorn, instead?" God she sounded just like her mother.

"Maybe." He was still pouting.

"You can pick the movie," Kate acquiesced. He grinned ear-to-ear at that.

"And I'll make popcorn."

As Alexis moved to stand up, she stopped halfway and reached around both their shoulders in a tight hug. Kate squeezed back, wondering at this sense of total and complete assimilation into their little family. As quickly as the hug started, Alexis was standing and heading for the kitchen. Apparently around here, giant hugs came with no explanation required.

"So what'll it be?" Kate stood and crossed to the bureau holding their DVD collection.

"Goonies? Spaceballs? Ooo. Bueller…"

"Like the 80's much, and what are you, twelve?"

"You're giving him too much credit, Kate."

"Those are classic, stay-home-sick standbys."

"I would have thought 'Pretty in Pink' what with the crown and the boa…"

"Hey, now, don't knock it 'til you've tried it. Fine, if you don't want any of those, how about Ghostbusters?"

"I guess I can handle ectoplasm."

Alexis put two bowls of popcorn on the coffee table.

"Do you mind if I go put on my PJ's, too?"

Kate was browsing the drawer and looked up at her question.

"Why do I think you were the one behind organizing this drawer?"

"Could it be the two-level organizational scheme? By genre, then alphabetically by title?"

"I'm not even allowed to put DVDs away," Rick groused.

"It took me three seconds to find the movie." She slid the drawer closed and returned to stand by Alexis near the couch.

"Precisely. And if it were up to dad, he'd have them grouped by what kind of ice cream they go best with."

Kate scrunched her nose and shook her head. She pointed toward the bureau.

"This is much better." She gave the redhead a conspiratorial look and bumped her hip against Alexis'. "Go put on your PJ's before your dad eats all the popcorn."

The relative in question was, in fact, stuffing an entire giant handful of kernels into his mouth all at once.

"Woo, ee? Neh-er."

"Dad, I don't want to have to Heimlich you again," Alexis called behind her as she headed upstairs.

"Again?" She didn't know her idle threat at breakfast a few weeks ago had precedent.

"I'll tell you about it when Gran is here. She does the sound effects."

Almost two hours later, Martha opened the door as the credits were rolling.

"I didn't know we were having a pajama party! I'd have hurried home sooner."

She circled around the couch to kiss Rick on the cheek.

"How is my poor, injured little boy?"

She winked at Kate, who was sitting propped against the arm of the couch with Castle leaning back against her.

"Hey, I saw that, Mother. I'm touched at your concern for me after I've been shot."

"Well, I heard it was just a graze." She patted the spot where her lips had been and thumbed off the smudge of lipstick.

Kate couldn't help but smile at his switch from downplaying the whole thing in front of her and the boys to milking it for all it was worth at home.

"Ok, yes, it was a graze. I didn't even get stitches."

"No stitches? Then what are you complaining about? Buck up, kiddo." She smacked his cheek a little now. "How are you even sitting there with him, Kate? Isn't the incessant whine making your ears ring?"

"She and I have been harassing him, don't worry," Alexis piped up from her end of the couch.

"Can you wait about ten minutes before you put on your pajamas, Mother? The Chinese food will be here and then you could open the door—"

"And bring it in here so none of you loafers actually has to move."

"I can get the door." Kate couldn't stand being accused of laziness.

"I'm just kidding, dear. Don't move; you might open up his wound…" Her voice rose to melodramatic proportions as she raised her arms in the air and stepped away.

"And don't worry, I already put it on my credit card over the phone, so you just have to tip him."

"Yes, yes, fine." She had made it to the kitchen and was pulling out a bottle of wine. "I assume you and Kate would like some of this?"

"Since I'm not getting any good drugs, I think I'm allowed."

"Sure." Kate was doing her best to suppress her instinct not to be waited upon. The giant warm lump of laziness in her lap was helping.

When she'd sat down at the start of the movie, putting herself on the far end of the couch, she wasn't sure how she felt about cozying back up next to Rick. Alexis was going to be sitting there with them, and despite all their progress, she hadn't wanted to step on teenage sensibilities of parental cuddling. But the decision had been made for her as Rick forcibly snuggled her into the corner of the couch and settled in front of her. Alexis' only comment on returning in her pink flannel pajamas and Uggs was a threat about blanket-hogging to her father.

So, here she sat, wrapped around Rick on his couch, sharing a blanket with his daughter, accepting a glass of fantastic red wine from his mother. Oh, how far she had come.

When her eyes opened in the darkness of his bedroom, her chest tightened with the last gasps of her nightmare. In her brain's version, the bullet hadn't hit his leg. Her heart was pounding, she had broken out into a cold sweat, and she was having to consciously inhale and exhale to get her breathing under control. But then she felt Rick curled behind her, well maybe over her was a more appropriate description. He'd taking to flinging his injured leg over her hip, encasing her and supposedly taking pressure off his bandage.

As she felt his chest expanding steadily behind her, his breath ruffling the curls at the nape of her neck, she tried to focus on their night rather than their afternoon.

Martha had, in fact, put on her pajamas after delivering their feast to the coffee table. Somehow turquoise leopard print satin didn't seem out of place on the theater maven. She'd snuck in between Rick and Alexis for dinner, then stayed for "The Thin Man."

Kate hadn't been familiar with the series of films, though she'd heard of the book. The Castles had taken great pride in introducing her to Nick and Nora. By the way Rick kept squeezing her hands at the characters' repartee, Kate deduced he saw a few similarities between their partnership and that of the silver screen couple.

Alexis had made good on her promise of wands and crowns and feather boas, though after about five minutes, the boa made it on to Martha's shoulders and the crown on to Alexis' head. Thankfully Kate took her Princess Castle photo undetected before he started shedding girly items. The one thing he hadn't relinquished was the wand, which he would periodically lift into the air and point at whomever he wanted to command.

There was ice cream, with whipped cream and sprinkles and two cherries from Alexis. His slippers appeared courtesy of Martha. She, on the other hand, kept getting tapped on the head without explanation by the sparkly pink ribboned scepter.

When they retired to his bedroom and he headed to the shower, she figured out what all the tapping had been about. He wanted her in there with him. She'd agreed, wary of Rook and Nikki scenes that might be playing through his head. But really he'd been sweet. He wanted her there to help him. She took off the dressing and the green stretchy gauze, looked over the scrape, proclaimed it to be in good shape, considering.

He'd gotten in the shower but tugged her in right behind him. They had touched, stroked and caressed, but despite hot water and steam and naked skin, they had gone no further. When his leg started oozing a bit, she ushered him out to their stash of bandage supplies and started to work re-dressing.

He had a look in his eyes she hadn't seen before as she cleaned his leg, kneeling on the tile as he sat on the edge of his tub. She had promised there would be at least one Scooby Doo bandaid, and she managed to work in two. They hadn't found any green stretchy gauze at CVS, so plain white would have to do. As she had tucked the end under after her final wrap around his thigh, he had reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear, drawing her focus up to his face.

"Do you know how much I love you?" He was smiling slightly, speaking low and gentle.

"I think I have some idea, yeah." Her voice was deep, so deep she almost didn't recognize it.

She rested her hands on his knee. He reached out and pulled them to his lips, kissed her fingers, rose and pulled her into bed. No Herculean wounded sex scene had ensued. He'd just pulled her under the covers and hugged her tight, breathing into her hair, the feel of his chest rising and falling lulling her to sleep.

Now she was in much the same position, just facing away from him. She wished she could see his face.

"You think so loudly you wake me up sometimes."

Wow, she hadn't even felt his breathing change.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you." She shifted and gave in to the urge to turn over, look into his eyes.

"Dream?"

"Yeah."

"We were supposed to be working on sweeter ones."

She smiled at that.

"I haven't had a nightmare in over a month, actually."

"Until now."

"Until now," she confirmed, burrowing her cheek into his chest.

"Yeah, I haven't had any either. It helps to have you here, I think. Even my subconscious knows you're right next to me."

"I'm starting to understand that."

His breathing was lulling her again. Hypnotizing.

"No more nightmares."

"I don't really care about the dreams so much, as long as I'm waking up with you."

She wasn't sure if she'd said that or only thought it before sleep took her under again.

**A/N: Oh, ye of little faith! Just because I start an angsty ghost story does not mean I am abandoning lingerie. Incidentally, if you want to read the angsty ghost story, it's called "Grail," and I posted chapter one yesterday. Now if I can just keep from being schizophrenic over the decidedly different plotlines and emotional character development, this will go just fine! Stay with me… I'll do my best. **

**-KC**


	15. Chapter 15

**Enlightenment 15**

**A/N: 15.5 will be posted shortly under "Enlightenment Extra."**

She had insisted on going back to her apartment to get ready for their date. When he'd suggested going out Saturday night, since his leg was really feeling fine, she'd accepted. But she had a different plan from his suggestion of dinner and then jazz. She just hadn't told him that yet.

This wasn't devious, it was a surprise. She had woken in his bed for the second time that morning with the sun shining and him staring, and she couldn't help it; she wanted to seize the day.

So she'd had breakfast, read the paper (the G rated version of their now-favorite weekend activity), and come home. An hour of yoga settled her system and her mind, and limbered her up. She had a feeling that might come in handy later.

A long soak in her tub with a glass of wine helped, too. She hadn't had much alone time to tend to things like eyebrows and pores and toenails. Maybe Lanie was off tomorrow, too. She had never turned down an invitation for a pedicure. Not that Kate had gone for one in, god, a really long time-definitely before her lingerie shopping. Maybe six months? Lanie had dragged her once after she came back to work, guilting her with her disappearing act over the summer. It wasn't that she didn't like getting pampered occasionally, but she generally had more pressing things to do.

But now she had a little time to primp. She had Lanie's latest playlist on, which had a bunch of Grammy artists. She did like Adele, but her favorite from the ones Lanie picked wasn't one she'd heard before. Something very upbeat, about waiting, and being better. She was better. Good song.

Her phone buzzed on her bed.

"Want me to bring a bottle of wine? Or are we coming back here after?"

"Bring wine."

She decided less was more. Wow. In so many naughty ways.

Half an hour later, her face was scrubbed, her hair was dry. She decided curls went with her theme for the evening: dramatic.

She had just started applying makeup when her phone buzzed again. She should just bring it into her bathroom. She was always afraid she would knock it in the tub or drip foundation all over it, but she was starting to run a little short on time, and she didn't want to ignore Rick. He'd taken on a bit of her neediness from the afternoon before.

"So I got us reservations at a nice place. What were you going to wear?"

"Oh, I found something special in the back of my closet. Don't worry. It's versatile. I can dress it up."

She smiled to herself. She was enjoying trying to picture his face when he walked in with his brand new key to her apartment and saw her, dressed in her special little Dora present.

She finished her eyes and added blusher, then put an extra coat of gloss on her lips. If she was going to wear this thing, she was going to own it. No demure blushing, no giggling smiles of embarrassment. Damn it, Castle was hers. As far as she was concerned, she had nothing to be self-conscious about, and he had everything to be grateful for. OK, so she had some things to be grateful for, too. But that was beside the point right now.

That Sugarland song was on as she walked into her closet to fetch the outfit in question. It may have been the rather large pour of Cabernet she'd downed while getting ready, but she just wanted to throw her head back and sing along.

She hadn't even looked at this lingerie since the day she put it on the hanger. She reached between the bag holding what would forever be her red Castle dress and the pink one she'd worn to his book signing. She had a feeling this ensemble was going to outdo them both.

Oh good God. Was it possible that it had gotten smaller and more sheer since she hung it up? What the hell had she been thinking? Oh, right, yes, she'd decided NOT to buy it. It was Dora's evil doing that landed the scrap of pleated black tulle and its tiny matching thong in her closet. She could still change her mind. She could put on a dress, and go sit on her couch, and have dinner at a nice restaurant with Rick and no one would be the wiser.

But somehow, she knew Dora would know. Wherever she was, whatever she was doing tonight, she would know Kate had chickened out. Damn that woman's psychic mind-reading lingerie. OK, no backing out. Rick was ten minutes away at best. It was crunch time. She took the black tulle baby-doll top off the hanger and then unclipped the matching black lace thong. This was SO small. Maybe she could put a robe over it when she walked out. Fine, that would completely defeat the purpose. No robe. Why was she channeling Dora's Southern drawl in her head right now?

She untied the front of the baby-doll as she walked to her bedroom. She laid it down on the bed and slipped on the underwear. Not much to these-kind of a formality, really. But they fit well. What there was of them. She slipped the short ruffled sleeves of the baby-doll over her shoulders and tied the string between her breasts. The pink, puckered scar was out in full view. How far she'd come in a few short weeks. She stepped in front of her full-length mirror and took stock. She shook her head at her reflection and rolled her eyes. She could totally see her nipples.

Yeah, he was going to fall all over himself.

She used her last few minutes to light the candles on her coffee table and in her bedroom, shut off all the lights except for one lamp in the far corner of her living room, and pull out a wine glass for him next to hers. She'd just set the corkscrew on her kitchen island when she heard her phone buzz.

"Are you ready? I'm running a little late, sorry."

"Use your key—come on in. I'll be ready in just a minute."

She dashed into her bedroom and shut the door softly, then pressed her ear against it to hear him when he came in. Crap. She forgot to turn off Lanie's playlist. She heard Roy Orbison crooning about his pretty woman. What had Lanie put on that latest list? This was what she got for not screening the songs. She was trapped in her bedroom now, and her iTunes was decidedly in her office. She mentally crossed her fingers that the next one wouldn't be "Baby Got Back."

She didn't have long to think about it though, because his key turned in her lock and she heard the door handle turn.

"Hey… I'm here," he called from her door.

"I'll be right there. Why don't you open the wine?"

"OK, but our reservation is in half an hour…"

She heard his footfalls walk toward her kitchen, heard him cut the foil and twist the corkscrew, heard him slide the cork out with a soft pop. She heard wine pouring into both glasses. She couldn't stall much longer. That was when she heard the Frank Sinatra song start. God bless Lanie Parish.

She suddenly had the courage. She turned the knob and slipped out, standing still just outside her door. He was facing away from her, setting the wine bottle down on the island, checking his watch. But as Frank crooned about how the heat was too intense for it, he stood up straighter, and slowly, slowly, turned to face her.

She was smiling, with a bit of a come-hither stare, right along with the lyrics.

His eyes went wide, lips parted slightly, then one corner of his mouth turned up.

"I take it we're not going to make our reservation."

She shook her head slightly.

"I love Dora."

Her smile broke apart her carefully crafted expression in favor of a single "Ha!"

She took a step toward him, and that apparently broke whatever spell had him rooted to her kitchen floor. He had her in his arms in under a second.

"Please don't hold it against me if I can't control myself while you have this on."

"Just don't take it off… yet."

His hands were sliding down her back, grabbing her bare cheeks, hauling her up in the air. She wrapped herself around him, arms at his neck, legs around his hips. He'd immediately attached his lips to hers, tongue diving in, moans punctuating every advance. He turned her around, set her just barely on the edge of her kitchen island. Oh, cold metal! God, she didn't care.

This was going to be a fun date.

**A/N: Look at Nancy Meyer for a "Christies" tulle baby doll with pleats if you want to see it. As always, in these chapters, the lingerie is real, the storylines are a product of my occasionally optimistic and usually over-eager imagination. Dora has not been forgotten. Just let me know if you're still hanging in there after my recent hiatus… And check out Enlightenment Extra later on with the rest of this chapter. **

**-KC**


	16. Chapter 16

**Enlightenment 16**

"Is it okay if I just drop you off? I don't think I'm up to coming over for dinner tonight."

They were in her car, sitting in traffic on their way home on Tuesday night. She knew she had been snippy with him, and if she was honest, with everyone, all day. She didn't really want to extend that to his family, too.

"We can just go back to your place if you don't want to have dinner with the redheads. They won't mind. It was Mother's night to order, and she was talking about that Thai place she loves so much that I can't stand."

"You mean the one with the Panang that tastes like chunky peanut butter?"

"Yup."

"Ew."

They inched a few feet down the block, brake lights as far as the eye could see. There was no way they were getting out of this any time soon. She kept her eyes on the unmoving cars rather than engage him.

"I don't know. I just need a night to decompress. Alone."

A horn blared behind her.

"God, why can't people in Manhattan figure out that honking does not make traffic move faster!"

That sounded a little more acerbic that necessary. She wasn't usually one to let traffic rile her. But she couldn't help it, she was on edge. She gripped the steering wheel tighter and rolled her shoulders.

"Kate, what's going on?"

"Nothing. I'm trying to figure out a way out of this mess."

She wasn't sure if she was talking about the traffic, or what had her preoccupied.

"Not buying it. You've been snarking at me all day, you almost took Espo's head off when he told you the suspect got away from them this afternoon, and you told Ryan not to touch your murder board. We just talked about this—that was only last week. What part of our conversation do I need to remind you of?"

He was right. She was worried, and she could keep her mouth shut and be evasive, or she could just explain. It was silly, and it was probably nothing, and if she waited long enough it would go away and she wouldn't have to embarrass herself by ever telling him. She'd spent the better part of her hour with Burke discussing how she was reacting to their relationship, how she handled it when he got hurt the prior week. And all of it was aimed at her doing this exact thing better. Being in real, honest relationship.

"We've been sleeping together for almost a month."

"And a fantastic month it's been, if I do say so myself."

He reached over and put his hand on her thigh, squeezing slightly.

"What hasn't happened yet in that month, Rick?"

There was a pause, a lowering of his brows, a pursing of his lips. And then she saw it dawn on him.

"Oh. Oh… But when… When should you have?"

"Yesterday or the day before."

"Okay." He said it slowly, as if collecting his thoughts. But wait a minute, now. I am no gynecologist, nor do I claim to have ever taken birth control before, but I do have a teenage daughter who was on the pill for a year when she was fifteen for heavy periods. And I learned everything there was to know about them before I let her doctor prescribe them. How long have you been on the pill this time?"

"Two months."

"Okay, so if I remember correctly, for the first couple of months, the timing is unpredictable."

"But when I was on them before, this was all like clockwork. I could set my watch by it."

"Sure, but you're different now, your body is different, and it hasn't been that long yet."

"Everything you're saying is true, Rick. I know I'm being paranoid, and that's exactly why I didn't say anything until now. But I've never relied on the pill as my only birth control before."

She finally chanced a look over in his direction.

"And you're worried."

She nodded.

"And that's totally reasonable."

Really? She didn't think so. She was telling herself not to run to CVS for a pregnancy test after she dropped him off-all for being a day late. Seemed somewhat ridiculous to her. Not that she could convince herself not to continue being paranoid.

"So then, let's talk about it. What are you so afraid of?"

He was starting to sound like Burke. And she was now trapped in this car with him until they cleared the accident she could see about five blocks ahead of them. Good job, Kate. And was he kidding? What about this situation was not inherently terrifying, if it was true?

"I just… we just... it's been a month, Castle. We shouldn't have to deal with this after a month."

"Fine, if you were pregnant right now, it would be pretty fast when you look at it that way. But Kate, it's not like we just met a month ago."

He'd actually said the word. She hadn't even let her brain think it yet in her own head. He squeezed her thigh again, and she looked over at him. He was so calm about this. When she thought about it, really considered it, it completely scared her to death. But that's what he wanted to know, right? Before she could think of what to say, he continued.

"Frankly, I think I'd look at it as a great excuse to buy you a ring and move you in and keep you forever."

He was making it sound light, but the look on his face and the grip of his fingers conveyed the seriousness and the truth behind his words.

She was sure she must have turned completely pale. She couldn't say anything to that. It was so fast. Too fast. Not what she wanted to have to consider right now, a month into this relationship that she still needed constant coaching from a professional psychiatrist and Rick to keep her head wrapped around.

"I know, too much, too fast." He pressed his lips together and his eyes clouded over. As he took in her shocked expression, he seemed almost disappointed.

He looked away for a moment, out the passenger side window. But then he appeared to think better of it and turned back around to face her. His determination was back.

"But honestly, what do you know about me? You know I love you. You know I would be there for you every single minute that you'd let me. You know I can afford kids. You know I raised one, who despite the genetics being against her, still managed to turn out brilliant and amazingly well-adjusted."

He sounded like he was profiling a suspect, or a character in his latest novel. But then his tone went soft.

"And I didn't even have a partner back then."

He pinned her with his look. She knew all along that this is what he meant when he said he was her partner. She'd just been conveniently ignoring the undertones, and he hadn't forced the issue. But he went on, almost bubbling over with his infectiously positive outlook.

"If we had a baby, I can only imagine how fantastic that kid would turn out. With my rugged good looks and your brains and drive and everything else I love about you, they'd probably end up President. Or maybe a rock star guitarist. Either would be okay with me."

He just let all these terrifying words roll off his tongue—'pregnant,' 'baby.' She couldn't fathom the sense of ease and joy he was projecting. He was actually smiling at her, all the seriousness from just a moment ago melted away. He gave her leg another little squeeze. Suddenly she realized she was smiling, too, a little. He just kept going.

"And if work is what's worrying you, so you have desk duty for a bit and then you take maternity leave, and when you're ready, you go back and be a badass, and I'll be mister mom. It worked out pretty well last time. I vetted Derrick Storm ideas in Alexis' bedtime stories. And cops have babies and kids and families. And yeah, you do a dangerous job, but I wouldn't want you to stop doing what you love, not for a second. And hell, if you suddenly decided you didn't want to be a homicide detective anymore, you could change your mind. Go to law school. Become a rock star guitarist. Let the department promote you. I bet once Gates found out I'd be staying home with Baby-Beckett-Castle, she'd be so thrilled to be rid of me she'd give you a raise and a promotion."

That horn blared behind her again, and she snapped her attention back to the road. The cab in front of her had moved about three yards. She took her foot off the brake and closed the gap, then turned back to Rick.

"How do you do this? You're so calm. When did you become the pragmatic one? And how do you manage to talk me down from the funk that's been brewing in my head for two days in the course of two minutes?"

The dark cloud wasn't gone, not by a long shot, but he had this way of laying things out that appealed to her meticulous side—the side that had contingencies for contingencies. She still didn't think she'd be stopping the pill next month and buying a white dress, but if her paranoia by some chance turned out to be well-founded, maybe she could see the beginnings of a plan that didn't involve an emotional meltdown on her part.

"Possessing a keenly honed sense of how your fascinating mind works doesn't hurt."

If nothing else, he had distracted her with the story, painting it as he had. She'd seen vague visions of him walking a tiny blanketed bundle around the loft. That was not going to get her anywhere.

"I'm not pregnant. I'm sure I'm not. My period will start tomorrow and then I got upset and brought all of this up for no good reason."

"You're wrong. Not about the being pregnant part—you're probably not, I agree—but about the no good reason part. We're having a lot of fantastic sex. We're in a relationship. I don't think I'm overstepping to say that we both hope it's going to be a long relationship. We needed to have this talk, and lots of other talks."

She saw the cars starting to shift around her and turned her focus back to driving. The accident had been cleared up ahead and everything was opening up.

"And hey, just for the record, I think we should go together."

"Go where?"

"To CVS. That's what you were going to do after you dropped me off, right?"

She paused, trying to decide if she should admit to it.

"Probably."

She just decided not to question how he knew. It shouldn't surprise her anymore.

"If you take a test, I want to sit there with the timer ticking. You don't need to do that alone, no matter how much we've talked and how good it all sounds, you'd be stressed, and I want to hold your hand."

She took in a surprised breath, but she steadied her voice and studded it with her usual sarcasm.

"What are you, Castle, the Beatles?"

She was switching to humor as her defense mechanism, since she would probably cry if she thought too carefully about what he'd just said. She'd save that for another time. For now, she just let the warmth of it bubble up inside her. She reached down from the steering wheel and grabbed his hand though.

"Besides, I don't think I'm even going to yet."

"That's fine, but let's stop, anyway. It's just silly not to have a couple on hand."

"You're such a girl sometimes."

She'd been planning to buy a few.

"Fine, insult me, but you know I'd end up being the one sent out into the rain at three AM to get one."

"True. Fine, we'll stop."

The next day, while she was searching phone records for their suspect, who Espo and Ryan had finally managed to track down and bring in, Castle got a call. He'd stepped away to the break room to take it and was gone for a little longer than made her comfortable. When he came out, she took in his red face and narrow eyes and clenched fists. Not good.

He stepped up to her desk and leaned down to speak softly near her ear.

"Can we go get some lunch?"

"I'm kind of in the middle of this. What's wrong?"

"I'd rather not talk about it here, which is why I was hoping you could take a break."

Now she was really worried.

"Sure. Remy's?"

He nodded and grabbed her jacket.

"Guys, we'll be back in a few. We can bring you burgers."

"Bacon and cheese, please," Ryan immediately piped up.

"Still no red meat, bro?"

"She's really into this one. She made tofu for dinner last night."

"Espo?" Kate was trying to expedite their escape.

"Burger with mustard and onions."

"No date tonight, huh?"

He glared at his partner.

Castle already had the elevator waiting when she got to it.

The vein in his forehead was still pulsing. Really not good.

"Not 'til we get there."

She hadn't even asked.

"Okay."

When they sat, their waitress took their orders right away. It was a little early for the lunch crowd and there weren't many other customers yet. He didn't wait for her to ask.

"So that was Madeline, my contact in the photo department at the Times, the one who tipped us to the photo tech a few weeks ago when their photographer was murdered."

"And?"

"And, it seems that our little stop at CVS last night drew the attention of one of the freelance photographers who had been shooting at the scene of the car accident we were stuck behind. He's apparently a big fan of Nikki Heat and he recognized me when we walked in."

"What do you mean, 'drew the attention of'?"

"He shot a photo of us coming out, holding hands, with the CVS bag in your other hand. The caption that came across Madeline's desk said something to the effect of 'The writer and his muse, and baby makes three?' The guy apparently went in and asked what we bought." He looked down at his hands, fingers laced together on the table.

"But we used the self-checkout! We double bagged them! There's no way he could see what was in that bag in the photo." She knew she sounded shrill, and she lowered her voice as best she could under the circumstances of complete and utter rage she was feeling at this invasion of one of the most significant and meaningful moments she'd had with Rick. And that was saying something.

"No, but apparently I have a fan at that store, too, who happened to be restocking the shelf right by the checkout line. She saw the tests and was only too happy to inform our photographer friend."

"So what, this is going to run on page six?" Her hands were clenching into fists around her paper napkin.

"Madeline held it off for now. But if they have a slow gossip day, she said she may not be able to stop it at some point."

She dropped her voice to a harsh whisper and leaned in closer, even though the closest customer was halfway across the room.

"But I'm not pregnant."

His eyes flashed from anger and frustration to something unreadable.

"No?" The single syllable was almost wistful.

"I just started about two hours ago. I just didn't want to tell you at the precinct."

He reached for her hands across the table and squeezed, and a little smile crossed his lips. She couldn't tell if it was a 'see, there was nothing to worry about' smile, or maybe something else entirely. But then he snapped back to war mode.

"Either way, what they print is only speculation."

"Salacious, muckraking tabloid press."

"Listen, Kate, I'm so sorry. Believe me, I am not happy about this. But at least Madeline is trying to run interference."

"Not happy? Irate would be more like it." Her blood pressure was rising. She could feel the flush burning in her cheeks. So here it was; this is what it would be like to date Richard Castle.

"I think we need to talk to my publicist."

"What?"

"The best defense is a good offense. We should let Paula do a press release. I told her a few weeks ago that we were dating—I thought it would be good to have her ears perked up for anything like this that might show up. But despite her advice to go ahead and release a statement then, I told her no, and that I wanted to give it more time and talk to you."

"I'm glad, since the last thing I need right now is a bunch of photographers trailing us at crime scenes trying to snap photos. How will we be able to work a case?"

"This is where Paula comes in. She kept Alexis completely out of the press her whole life. She has ways, ways that even I don't want to know about, of making press behave themselves. We get her in on this, we have some little bit of control over how it goes." He squeezed her hands.

"But no matter what, it's going to go. That's what you're saying. One way or another, someone will care enough about our relationship to want to print it."

"I know I'm not some movie star or big celebrity, but I've gotten enough small time press over the years that yes, people would notice. And the next book is coming out in a few months, so there will be press and events for that. I know you don't want to be on parade, but I was kind of hoping you'd come to a few things with me."

He looked so hopeful as he finished, she couldn't bring herself to squash his optimism.

"We can talk about that when it gets closer, but this, now? Wow. I thought we were being so quiet about everything." Her brain was still reeling. "Okay, so do we have to meet with Paula in person?"

"I'll call her today. See if she has time this week. She can probably just come over one night after work, fit it around our schedule."

She had come over that night, in fact. She had something drafted when she arrived, which they both read over and adjusted. She wanted them to have one flashy date this weekend, let some people snap their picture, and make it all official. Kate didn't like it, but the alternative was much worse.

He curled up behind her in bed later that night and folded his arm around her. Maybe it was just her over-sensitive detective's brain, but since their talk about babies the day before, god it was still hard to even think that word in her head, his touches and caresses seemed more focused on her belly. It was soothing to have his warm palm there, at the moment, since her ibuprofen hadn't completely kicked in yet.

"You okay?" His breath was warm on her ear.

"Yeah. I'm good. For now. We'll see how I am when the first idiot tries to take a photo at a crime scene."

"Have faith in the evil ways of Paula."

"I'm trying."

"In the meantime, I dug up a great flashy date for this weekend. Some gallery is having an opening and I'd already said no—it's weird modern art and sculpture—but I emailed and they said they'd love to have us."

"I don't mind weird modern art. You should give it a chance."

"Well, if you find one you like, we'll give them a real thrill and I'll buy it for your birthday."

"My birthday isn't until November."

"Our one-month anniversary present?" His hand was making warm little circles low on her stomach.

"It would be better than Ryan's terrible tie. But Rick, you can't just buy me a piece of modern art."

"Why not?" He sounded half guileless and half teasing.

"Because that's excessive. I already have plenty of art at my place, anyway." She tried not to sound too harsh. He was trying to do something nice for her.

"Then I'll get something for you to put up here. Think of it as broadening my artistic horizons. You'll just be my advisor." That sounded a little too much like decorating their place together. Just because they had traded keys did not mean she was calling movers.

"Maybe." That was non-committal enough to put him off for the moment. "And what, exactly, do I need to wear for this opening?"

"I think you should take Lanie shopping with you on Saturday." Well, at least he wasn't trying to buy her another crazy designer dress.

"You do know I'm on call this weekend. If a body drops, this whole thing is done."

"I know, and I won't go at all if we get a call, but the timing worked, so I figured we should at least try." He had slipped in that "we" without making it sound intentional. Maybe they were already at that point where their weekends were assumed to be spent together, work or no.

"I'll do my best." And she meant it.

They were quiet for a few minutes. She thought Rick might have drifted off, but then he spoke into her ear very softly.

"Hey Kate?"

"Hmm?"

"I want to say, for the record, just in case some tiny little part of what you were worried about yesterday had to do with whether I would want… I just mean that… whenever you're ready, or if it ever happens, I'd love to have a baby with you."

She could feel the love radiating off of him in waves. She had no defense for this sincerity. The tears came, though she tried to keep them quiet as they trailed to her pillow. She lost control of her breathing for just a second, and he squeezed her tight when he felt her shaky inhale.

"I didn't mean to make you cry."

"No, it's okay. I'm sorry I'm such a mess about this."

He tugged on her hip to try to get her to turn over. She resisted, but he was insistent, so she shifted to face him.

He tipped his face so they were nose to nose.

"All I meant was, I want whatever you want, whenever you want it."

They were so close; he looked blurry in the darkness through her tears.

"I know you do. But thank you for saying it anyway."

"I'll say one more thing, then. I'm afraid you're going to be mad, or it's going to scare you, but I don't want it to. I just feel like I should tell you."

She nodded and blinked the last of the tears away.

"A tiny little part of me, a part I didn't even know existed before yesterday, was sad when you told me you weren't…" he lowered his eyes.

She brought her palm up to stroke his cheek, thumb brushing his lowered lashes. His eyes flicked back up to hers.

"I love you, Rick Castle, and you are a wonderful man for thinking that, and for telling me so. Don't you ever think you can't tell me things-ever."

He shifted to kiss the tracks of tears still remaining on her cheeks, then laid soft lips on hers. He pulled back enough that she could see his lips curving up, laugh lines etched with shadows.

"I won't if you won't."

The irony of the role reversal hit her and she smiled back.

"Deal."

**A/N:** To **KateMB**, it probably wasn't quite the context you were hoping for, but hope you like it anyway. And to **you'vegotthis**, you keep leaving me these great reviews, but you have PM disabled and I can never answer you! Thank you to everyone for your feedback. And hooray for a new episode tomorrow.

-KC


	17. Chapter 17

**Enlightenment 17**

"Lanie, I love this." She was looking at herself in a full length mirror in the dressing room of a boutique she'd never known existed. Leave it to Lanie.

"And as we well know, true love is hard to find." She was looking at Kate through the reflection in the mirror.

Kate had lost count of the number of cocktail dresses Lanie had handed her over the course of the past six boutiques and two department stores. Her words on entering this shop were grumbled and may have suggested bodily harm if they couldn't find something. Kate had spotted this sapphire blue halter from the door. It was raw silk and had intricate but subtle beading across the bust. She turned to look at her back and saw the band of her strapless bra. She unhooked it and slipped it off, turning back around.

"But I can't wear it—look at this. I'm not… I don't really fill it up."

"Sweetheart, the rest of it fits your twiggy little figure like a glove. Not everyone is blessed with the dress-filling assets that killed my ballet career."

"I would get it altered, but it's too fast, at least with all these beads." She smoothed her hands down her waist. It really did fit her perfectly otherwise.

"I bet I know someone who could fix you right up."

"Tailor?" Kate hoped her friend had a personal relationship. She didn't hold out much hope, though since these beads weren't going to alter in an hour, no matter how good this person was.

"Better. Dora."

"What? Lanie, it's almost four."

"Which gives us another hour before you absolutely have to go home and primp. From everything I've heard about that woman and her shop, she'll work some kind of voodoo magic. And her store is two blocks over." Lanie was already helping her out of the garment in question.

"How do you know that?"

"Writer-boy isn't the only one who does research." Kate handed her the dress and started to put her own clothes back on.

"Fine, I'll take you to meet Dora. And worse comes to worse, I can wear the black one we got last month." Lanie seemed satisfied and stepped out with the dress.

Kate was coming out of the dressing room just as Lanie handed a credit card to the woman at the register.

"What are you doing?"

Kate had her credit card in hand and was trying to get the saleswoman to take it in exchange for Lanie's.

"No you don't. You put that card away. Your money is no good here. Ring it up, sweetie."

One of the few authoritarian voices that carried more weight than Kate's was in full force: Lanie's Doctor Voice. The clerk looked slightly confused, but scanned the tag and swiped Lanie's card.

"I'm the one convincing you to get it, and besides, if you're really on page six, I get to brag."

She signed the slip and the woman handed Kate her bag.

As the bell tinkled on Dora's front door, it was an unfamiliar woman who looked up at them from behind the antique desk.

"May I help you?" No Southern accent, though the younger woman seemed pleasant enough.

"I hope so. Dora wouldn't happen to be here, would she?"

"She's in the back. Would you like for me to—"

"I thought I recognized that voice. Ginny, darlin', can you go finish up with our other customer?"

Dora sashayed out from behind the curtain and made a beeline for Kate and Lanie.

Ginny disappeared to the back, looking slightly confused.

"So good to see you again, Katie. How are you? And who have you brought with you?"

Dora ignored Kate's outstretched hand and pulled her into a light hug.

Lanie's eyebrows rose as her smile grew. Dora detached herself from Kate and held a hand out to her friend.

"Dora, this is Lanie Parish. We work together, and she's taking me shopping today."

"Oh, another detective?"

"I'm a medical examiner, actually."

"Goodness, a doctor and a detective. What a fascinating pair you two make. I have to admit, everything I know about medical examiners has come from one television show or another, so I'm sure it's all wrong, but even so, I am so impressed. Now let's get a glass of bubbles for you both, and we'll get down to business."

She had already filled two flutes before either could say no, so they accepted them and clinked glasses.

"Dora, I like you already." Lanie sidled up to the petite Texan, who laid her hand on Lanie's arm.

"We should start our own mutual admiration society. Now what are you looking for today?"

"We just found her a dress that she needs help with. She's going to a gallery opening tonight and apparently their picture is going to be all over page six."

"Would this 'they' refer to the man in Kate's life?"

They were basically talking to each other, ignoring Kate completely.

"The one and only Rick Castle."

"Katie, darlin' you've got to be kidding me? Richard Castle, the famous crime novelist, is your Fresh Start?"

"Oh, I like that name. I'm gonna remember that one." Lanie sounded way too pleased with herself.

Crap, these two were going to be best friends.

"Alright, though, head back down the hall and get the dress on. It's almost four-thirty! You need to be primping pretty soon if you're going to be in the paper!"

Kate rolled her eyes at no one in particular and took off down the hall. A very elderly woman was walking out of the dressing room on the right with a very red satin nightgown over her arm. Kate didn't want to contemplate the reasons for it, so she just headed into her former dressing room. Both Lanie and Dora pranced right in after her. She turned and looked at Lanie.

"What?" Like she was offended that Kate would even question her presence while trying on lingerie…

"Never mind."

She changed quickly, taking off her own strapless bra and letting Lanie fasten her into the dress.

"Oh, that's lovely. And what a color on you! I see the issue. I'll be right back. We have options—definitely not a lost cause."

Lanie smiled and raised an eyebrow.

"See?"

"Let's see what she's got."

It turned out she had just about everything Kate could have imagined plus a few things she couldn't. They ended up deciding on inserts to tack into the dress itself, since, as Lanie put it, Kate didn't really need support so much as volume. Dora apparently had a seamstress "in the back room" for just such an occasion, and she disappeared with the dress and the inserts in a flash of pumps and pearls.

When she returned a moment later, Dora had one more item in her hand. It was the garter belt she'd tried on the last time she had been to the store. Kate's eyes went wide as soon as she saw it. Lanie perked up from the first droopings of her shopping-induced slump and raised an eyebrow. Dora raised one hand in a gesture of surrender, but plowed through anyway.

"Now I know you said this was a little too dramatic last time, but I think with the hemline of that dress being just above the knee, you could absolutely wear this underneath with some of my luscious silk stockings and no one would have a clue. Except of course for your gentleman friend, should you choose to let him in on your secret, say in the back of the limo on the way over to this little shindig."

"Dora, can I be your best friend?" Lanie couldn't take her eyes off the blue silk.

"Lanie, you're my best friend." Kate channeled her most indignant Beckett bark.

"Yeah, but I like the way she thinks!"

Dora gave Lanie a one-armed squeeze as she handed the garter belt and a pair of stockings over to Kate.

"Now, come on out here while she slips those on. Lanie, when are you coming back so we can get you all decked out?" Dora ushered her away, leaving Kate alone to try on this completely sexy, racy, lace-covered concoction. Once she fastened it in the back and slid the stockings up her legs, she was besotted.

It hugged her hips just so, and the garters trailing down to grab the tops of the stockings made her feel like Marilyn Monroe with the wind blowing up through a subway vent—except of course she didn't think Marilyn had been wearing a garter belt… or stockings—but still. And the darn thing was even almost the same shade of blue as the dress. She heard a tap on her door, and Dora slipped the matching sheer thong through, seemingly without having drawn the attention of her best friend.

Good grief. She was doomed. They had better get that picture taken quick, because with this on, she and Rick weren't staying at that opening long.

They actually did take a limo to the gallery. She guessed flashy really did mean flashy. Rick's eyes had nearly popped out of his head when he saw her in the dress, hair up with a few tendrils slipping out of her loose, messy bun. And when he saw the back, correction lack of a back, his pupils had dilated. Visibly. She had to physically turn him around and point him back out the door to keep him from taking them straight to her bedroom.

Now as they sat drinking champagne, her second glass of the day, he was stroking her knee with his warm fingers. The tinted window was up between them and their driver, so his fingers started getting bolder. The pad of one began tracing the edge of her hemline. Goose bumps were erupting all over her freshly buffed and lotioned skin, and she felt like there was a direct connection linking the sensitive skin of her inner thigh to her core.

She really hadn't planned on following through on Dora's evil suggestion, but now she thought it served him right for torturing her like this.

As he sipped from his glass, all the while smirking slightly at her obvious reaction to his wandering hand, he nudged the hem upward, revealing a few inches of her stocking. He slipped the tip of one digit underneath, to trace further up. She saw the blood leave his face when he figured out this stocking had an edge. His eyes widened as he slid the finger slowly across the top of her thigh, until he found the garter.

He gasped, out loud, his lips parting and mouth opening slightly on his exhaled "oh."

And just then the limo stopped. They heard the driver exit and walk around toward Kate's side. Rick seemed to be frozen, fingers glued to the clasp of the garter he'd discovered. She had to take his hand with hers to get it out from under the edge of her skirt. And his mouth was still hanging open in disbelief.

"What, Castle? You told me to go shopping."

He snapped out of his daze with a little shake of his head, closed his mouth, and seemed to collect himself.

"New rule: you go shopping, I get a private fashion show."

"And why, exactly, do you think you get to make the rules, Rick?"

She smoothed her skirt just as the driver tapped on the window and opened the door.

She scooted over and stepped out on to the curb with her four-inch pewter pumps. He was right behind her, literally, and while they were still stepping out, blocked from view by the door and the driver, he grabbed her ass. Richard Castle actually grabbed her ass—all bold and possessive and completely without regard for the whole purpose of this fancy date—being in public and announcing that they were a couple. Well, she guessed that was one way of announcing it. She elbowed him in the solar plexus with a very subtle movement of her upper arm and he let go. Good god, this was going to be interesting.

She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, but there was no red carpet, no snapping of photos from the moment they stepped out of the car. As they approached the door, a small group of extremely well-dressed 30- and 40-somethings were clustered off to one side. From the cloud drifting away from them, they were the nicotine worshippers already out for a smoke. At the door, a very pleasant young woman asked for their names and directed them to check his coat. She kept her wrap, still unsure how much skin she wanted visible for the New York Times.

As they entered the high-ceilinged, burnt umber foyer, she spotted a photographer that looked like he was with the gallery, trying to snap photos of everyone he possibly could. There were more well-dressed couples and groups milling about, passing from room to room. Champagne and what looked like Kir Royales were perfectly arranged on silver trays, carried by tux-clad wait staff wearing orange bow ties. Apparently orange was the color for the night.

Cocktail tables were draped with black linens and topped with tiger lilies. Suddenly, unbidden thoughts of 'Next time without the tiger' flitted through her mind. They hadn't really gotten around to that yet. Hmm. Something to ponder.

Rick seemed to know someone in the first gallery they stepped into, and he placed a warm hand on her back to guide her toward a cluster of patrons. As they crossed the room, she caught sight of some of the art. Castle had been correct—this was weird and modern. Weird in a good way, though. She liked the delicate, intricate carvings into pure white marble. Somehow, the artist made the dense, heavy rock look as light and effortless to shape as scraps of paper. This woman had a penchant for making cages—cubes, spheres and columns—out of marble, but carved down to wispy, intricate, loops and meshes.

Rick hadn't let her out of his direct grasp since they'd entered the gallery. He maintained contact, his hand on the bare skin just above the small of her back, or fingers pressed against her dress just below. She knew it was a subtle quest for the silk and lace that he knew clung just underneath the sapphire material.

When they moved into a second room after half an hour of introductions and chatting and trying a few passed hors d'oeuvres, she saw the first of a series of slightly different works. These had the subtitle "Will and Intention," and they involved the sculptor's same lyrical marble ribbons juxtaposed with rough, solid blocks of stone. One, in particular, just reminded her of—well, she knew this sounded new-age and sappy—but it reminded her of her relationship with Rick. A curling ribbon of white marble slinked up to a block of imposing gray stone, straightened itself up, and dove right over. Wow. Wall, scaled.

Rick leaned in and spoke with hot breath directly into her ear.

"Like it?"

She smiled slightly, not taking her eyes off the sculpture, and nodded. She saw the flash of a camera reflect off the pedestal as she stared at the piece, assuming it was the hired gun, shooting patrons appreciating.

After about an hour, Rick seemed to have fulfilled all his schmoozing duties. They found themselves in a corner by a window, with fresh glasses of champagne.

"So, I have reservations for dinner."

"Is that part of our flashy date for Paula?"

"Not really. We've had the Times photographer snapping photos in here for the past half hour."

"I didn't see them."

"They're the Times. They don't tend to want to be seen."

"So we're technically free? We could do whatever we want?"

He slid one finger from her bare back down past the edge of her dress and finally made contact with the lacy top of her garter belt. They were backed into the quiet, dark corner, so she didn't feel the need to physically harm him, but she definitely felt her own physical need surfacing.

"Yes."

One syllable, laden with so much meaning, especially in the context of his exploring digit.

"So technically, we could end our flashy date by taking the limo back to my place and ordering in Chinese?"

"I think there might be a few other priorities higher on my list right now than Chinese, but theoretically, we could."

She took a very deep drink and finished half of her flute of bubbles.

He mirrored her actions, grinning into his glass.

"Do you mind being anti-social with me? This is your world I'm suggesting we abandon." She didn't want to limit his fun—he hadn't been out like this in she didn't know how long.

He took her free hand in his and linked their fingers, brought her hand to his chest, and dropped the smile from his lips. From his look, she thought he might be about to tell her very solemnly that he would rather stay a while, have dinner out, and wine and dine for a change. She prepared herself to go along—let him have his fun—she could be out and be social for a change.

"Kate, _you_ are my world."

He lifted her knuckles to his lips, pressed them softly into a kiss, then tugged her to the door.

**A/N: Tomorrow, watch for 17.5 on Enlightenment Extra. Also, both the lingerie and the art are real. Google: "Hirschl and Adler Elizabeth Turk Will and Intention 1" and their piece of art will be the first hit. If you're in Manhattan, this is actually on display this month. The website has details if you want to see the works in person. I really think it's worth looking at, at least online. Let me know if you agree with my non-art-school-trained impression. And if you want to see the lingerie, search "Nancy Meyer La Perla Sinfonia garter belt." It's the first hit past the sponsored hits.**


	18. Chapter 18

**Enlightenment 18**

**A/N: If you missed it, go read Enlightenment Extra Chapter 5, which is the M-rated ending to Chapter 17. I dedicate it to **you'vegotthis**, whose review I credit with the push to write my Tiger chapter earlier than planned. If I missed writing you directly, thank you so much for reviewing. As long as I know you're out there, I'll come up with more lingerie. Disclaimer: I take no responsibility for the sudden increase in your credit card bills from purchasing lingerie from France. : )**

Something was a little bit off when she opened her eyes. She blinked, lifted her head slightly off Rick's bicep. Oh, they were upside-down. Heads at the foot of her bed. Right. Boy did she remember how that had happened.

Her clock said 10:05 AM. She couldn't believe no bodies had dropped in 36 hours.

Rick opened his eyes as she settled herself back down against his arm.

"Good morning, gorgeous."

She smiled. She couldn't help it, it still gave her a flutter in her chest to hear words like that from him as the first of her day. Though technically, she'd heard quite a few words between midnight and three o'clock, when they'd finally passed out from exhaustion, physically unable to withstand any more love-making.

And while her brain was on that topic, god she was sore. Muscles, sure, after their acrobatics she was often a little tight the next day, usually fixed by some stretches or a good session of yoga. But this morning, she was also sore in other, more intimate ways. They had been a little rough with each other last night, inspired by their first round, handcuffed to each other by their left hands. But wow, some things were just worth being sore. She hoped she'd be able to walk when she got called in. It was bound to happen.

"Did you sleep enough?" He raised his left hand to her face and brushed his thumb over her cheek.

That was when she noticed the light purple marks on his wrist. She encircled his wrist with her fingers, lightly brushing over the bruises.

"Does this hurt? I didn't realize."

"No, it doesn't hurt. You have them, too, you know."

She pulled her arm out from where it was trapped between them and inspected her own skin. At least this spot wasn't sore.

"We may have gotten a little carried away." She looked up at him through her lashes, smirk replacing her momentary worry.

"May? May have gotten carried away? Do you remember the living room and the four-inch-heels and the kitchen counter? And that was just while we had these on." He held up his left hand and rotated it.

"Oh, I remember. And I'll be remembering for a couple of days. Especially the part on the floor."

His brow furrowed and he laid his hand carefully on her ribcage, stroking soothingly up and down.

"Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

"Just sore. I'll be fine. Might need a day or two off from the acrobatics though."

She was trying to keep her voice light, assuage the worry she saw building in his eyes.

"Are you sure? I'm so sorry. I just wasn't thinking much, at least not once we got started."

She placed her own palm against his chest and shoved lightly.

"Don't be sorry—you weren't that much of a caveman. Last night was amazing. Worth a few achy muscles and… other things."

She raised an eyebrow and quirked her lips on one side. His eyes were starting to clear, concern being replaced by softness and just a hint of awakening desire.

"We should go to my place later. Use my bathtub. Jacuzzi jets are the cure for all evils."

"That actually sounds really good."

"And we should pick up a couple of papers."

Her smile faded slightly.

"You think someone already put out a photo?"

"I heard my phone chirp at about seven. And then about ten more times since then. I'm assuming at least one of those is Paula giving us the run-down."

"But the Times was the only photographer I saw. They don't publish their society crap—"

He cringed slightly.

"—sorry, their society stuff doesn't go out again until Thursday."

"Right, unless they were just covering the art angle, in which case they might put a review of the opening in as soon as tomorrow. But they weren't the only photographers there. I saw a woman from the Post. We're probably on page six today."

Beckett's phone beeped and she sat to grab it from her night stand. It wasn't a call, just a text, but who would be texting on Sunday morning?

"Nice dress. Looks good in print."

Lanie, bragging.

"So yeah, we're on page six. Lanie found us already."

Rick had reached for his phone, too.

"I have one from Ryan saying Jenny saw us on Gawker."

She was going to assume she should know what Gawker was and go look it up later.

"And Paula?"

Rick smiled down at his phone, scrolling through what seemed to be a long message with his thumb.

"Oh, she's gloating. We're in the Post, we're on about four gossip websites, the Times told her we'll be in their Thursday section, in parallel with covering the artist."

She was pushing down the dual sense of dread and panic rising up inside her chest. He looked up from his phone, and seeing her face, he dropped it on the bed and reached for both her hands.

"Breakfast, a stop at the news stand, I'll go for a run with you if you want."

"Wow, you must think I'm completely freaking out if you're offering to go for a run…"

She smiled sarcastically and rolled her eyes.

"We've gotta get the aggression out somehow, otherwise you're going to punch me or kill the next photographer you see."

He scooted closer to her and tugged her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her as she leaned back against him.

"We're not going to have paparazzi, are we?"

She hated it when she sounded whiny, but it just slipped out that way.

"No, we're not."

He nuzzled his morning stubble against her cheek.

"I don't need to invest in baseball caps and dark glasses?"

Snarky was better, in her opinion.

"No."

He turned his head and blew a raspberry on her neck, earning a screech and a laugh.

"Okay, then. Breakfast."

She squeezed his hands and untangled herself from him.

She started breaking eggs into a bowl while he went to get her paper. He came back with two.

"Who is Mary Alice?"

"She's my downstairs neighbor. She's eighty-five and very sweet. She always accepts packages for me if I'm not home."

"Well, she was kind enough to leave us her copy of the Post this morning."

He held up the paper with a pink post-it note on the front with her neighbor's neat handwriting.

"Thought you might want to keep this one! –Mary Alice"

"Go on, open it up."

He smiled at her, despite her long-suffering tone, and unfolded the paper, laying it down across her stovetop and flipping to page six. She put down her bowl and whisk and leaned into his side.

And there they were. She was smiling, totally unguarded, entranced, peering at the ribbon sculpture. He had his hand at the small of her back, but instead of looking at the art, his whole and complete focus was on her face. And she saw that smile—the one she thought he only used for Alexis—proud and wistful and utterly bewitched.

The caption read: "More than a muse? Richard Castle seems to have cozied up considerably to NYPD homicide detective Kate Beckett, widely known to be the inspiration for the novelist's best-selling Nikki Heat series. They appeared to be admiring each other as much as the art last night at Hirschl & Adler Modern, celebrating the opening of Elizabeth Turk: Cages. When asked if there were wedding bells in their future, his publicist replied that they are 'enjoying each other's company'… for now."

"'For now'? Did you tell her to say 'for now'?"

Her eyebrow climbed along with her blood pressure.

"No. I didn't. And that's the writer adding it on anyway."

He was folding the paper to show just the half above the fold, with their photo and caption.

"They already have us married off, don't they?"

She didn't mean to sound accusatory, but it was ridiculous. They were treating it like a foregone conclusion.

"They just want to claim the exclusive when we announce it."

It registered and she scrunched her brow at him.

"I mean, if we announce it. Not that we're going to… I'll just shut up now."

Her eyes went wide—not her best death glare, but as close as she could come considering the shock of the situation.

"That would probably be best."

She went back to beating the eggs—vigorously.

He'd been rescued from the run by a call from Esposito. At ten thirty, with their third suspect's alibi confirmed, she called the team off and sent Esposito and Ryan home. They didn't argue, and she found herself staring at the murder board, Castle beside her, alone in the bullpen.

"At least there weren't any photographers," he commented in his most optimistic tone.

"Why did so many people want to kill this guy? He sold shoes." She turned to him, head tilted in consternation.

"Ah, but you don't want to get between a woman and her Jimmy Choo's."

"I've always preferred Manolo Blahnik."

He turned his head at that one.

"So easy, Castle."

She shook her head and grinned her toothiest grin.

"With your four-inch-heel fetish, I wouldn't put it past you to have a few art pieces stashed away for special occasions."

She poked him in the shoulder.

"Castle, if I wake up and find a pair of thousand-dollar shoes in either of our closets, I will return them and donate the money to Soles4Souls."

He held up his hands, abashed, despite not having actually done anything. He must have been thinking about it.

"I promise, no crazy shoes. Besides, I find something inherently wrong with paying a thousand dollars for tiny leather torture devices for women's feet."

He looked down at his own expensive but comfortable leather loafers, then glanced over at the high-heeled boots she had on.

"You did say you picked me because I was tall."

He met her eyes with a soft smile for that memory. Then the mischievous glint returned and he nudged the toe of his loafer against the toe of her boot.

"And I love it when you wear heels, don't get me wrong. If last night taught you nothing else, it should have taught you that."

She shoulder bumped him as she blushed slightly.

"I just can't understand why someone would pay that much and then actually wear them—like out on the streets of New York? With all the sticky asphalt and spilled frappuccinos and subway grates? I think I'd want to display them, under glass maybe."

He just didn't have the second X chromosome—the synergy between the two being key for the understanding of shoes and how to apply eyeliner. At least it meant he wasn't going to go shoe shopping for her.

"You don't have to explain yourself to me; I'm just pleased you're not a complete metrosexual. I have much better things to spend my money on, anyway."

Oh, the twinkle was in full force after that cryptic comment.

"Like Dora's lingerie."

He could so read her mind. How did he do that? Seriously. Seriously? And he was still angling to go with her the next time. Yes, she had spent some serious money on that top drawer. But the way she saw it, she was investing in their future happiness. She wasn't dependent on her cop's salary, though she really only tapped into her other funds for her apartment and the occasional splurge on clothes or art.

"Point taken. But at least we both get to enjoy that."

"Not complaining."

She turned back to the board and her shoulders slumped a little further.

"So we check out his high-end customers again tomorrow. My eyes are crossing. Let's get out of here."

She knew she was calling it quits an hour earlier than her usual late-night limit, but she'd recently come to appreciate the point of diminishing returns. And she would see this all better in the morning.

What an effect this man had had in such a short time. He'd been in her head for years, her heart for almost as long, but since he'd truly gotten his hands on her, she'd started to remember what comfort and care felt like, how they could heal when no therapy session could.

"You still have a date with my Jacuzzi tub."

Castle pushed up off the edge of her desk and went for their coats.

"Oh, and don't you think I've forgotten."

**A/N: And good lord, you got two different chapters out of me in one night. See my latest "Horseshoes and Hand Grenades" 47 Seconds post-ep, which a reviewer just described as an "antidote" to the episode—I love it. I'm now on Tumblr, by the way. I have given in to the Borg Collective that is social media… Find me as KathrynChristie and look at my Beckett heels—not Choo or Blahnik. **


	19. Chapter 19

**Enlightenment 19**

**A/N:**

**As always, I thank you all for the reviews, favorites, alerts and likes on Tumblr. I can't bring myself to write a non-fluffy chapter until I am getting something other than frustration from our lovely Marlowe and Co. Not to say that it won't be worth it in the end… **

"Castle? Why is there a huge wooden crate in your living room?"

Kate had just walked in after staying behind at the precinct to finish paperwork on their close from that afternoon. Just inside the door was a giant wooden packing crate with "FRAGILE" stamped in red on all sides, and a large arrow pointing upward on the side. She dropped her keys on the table by the door and hung her jacked in the closet. Something smelled fantastic. He'd left early vowing to have a home-cooked meal waiting when she got to the loft.

"It's just something that got delivered this afternoon, but it's not being installed until tomorrow."

Rick called from the kitchen, where he was stirring two pots simultaneously. He was wearing a black apron embroidered with the words: "Captain Cook: Arggghhhh!"

"Installed?"

She scooted on to a stool at the counter.

"Yeah, taken out, set up. The pedestal doesn't come in until tomorrow anyway."

He tapped one spoon on the edge of the pot holding what looked like home-made marinara sauce, turned down the heat, and put the lid on.

"Why do I think I know what this is, and I'm not going to like it?"

Her eyebrow was fully raised as she glanced warily in the direction of the crate.

"Oh, you already like it. That's why it's here."

He stopped stirring the water simmering with pasta.

"You bought that artist's sculpture, from the opening last month. The one with the ribbon and the wall—the rock."

She immediately corrected herself, but he'd picked up on the slip. Rick just grinned and raised his eyebrows.

"I told you not to buy me a piece of modern art."

She was projecting annoyance but not really all that surprised.

"I didn't buy it for you. I bought it for myself. It's here, isn't it? Not at your place."

He grabbed an empty glass and poured her red wine from the open bottle on the counter. He slid her glass to her and raised his own to sip.

"Rick, I can only assume this thing cost a small fortune. This is ridiculous."

She gestured with her glass toward the crate, only half-heartedly grousing. If he was going to buy her something extravagant, at least this was something she actually liked. And she was immortalized on film (digital media?) liking it.

He circled the counter to stand by her chair, smiling at her with those soft eyes, the ones he had been showing her more and more over the past two months. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, leaving his hand tangled there, warm against her neck. He must have thought she was seriously mad, because he dropped his voice from the light teasing tone to earnest and sweet.

"You love it. I love it. Seeing it for the first time that night put a look on your face that I want you to have every day for the rest of your life."

He leaned in and kissed her temple. She was really warming up to his sappiness. He touched his lips to the tip of her nose. Being a sap wasn't so bad, really. She met his lips when he leaned in. Especially when he was such a fantastic kisser. He ran the tip of his tongue over the seam of her lips sending tingles down her spine.

Wait a second, he just said something about every day for the rest of her life. Panic fluttered somewhere in her subconscious.

He deepened the kiss, and she was temporarily distracted.

She'd survived paparazzi, put a few clothes in his closet-okay maybe a third of her clothes, traded keys, taken to spending half her nights at the loft, and permanently stolen three slightly faded, worn-to-the-point-of-softness t-shirts that she now slept in regularly, but that did not mean life-long commitment.

He withdrew his adventurous tongue and pulled back to smile down at her.

"Besides, this is so much less ridiculous than ten things I already own. I could have gotten you your own moon crater."

She did her best to shove the instinct to defend her independence down.

"Only ten?" she deadpanned. "But seriously, Rick, a pedestal?"

"What do you think about putting it right over there?" He pointed past the living room to the little alcove along the wall. "I've got the electrician coming to drop a little spotlight down over it before they put it up."

He just had no concept of how extravagant this all was. Or if he did, well, that was harder to process. It meant he was knowingly, gleefully directing all of it at her, expecting nothing in return except her indulgence. And maybe a trip to Dora's. She should really quit stalling and do that with him.

"Oh, crap, pasta's going to overcook."

He was dashing back around to the bubbling pot. He dipped his pasta spoon in and pulled out a piece of spaghetti, grabbing it nimbly with his fingers and holding it above his open mouth. He slurped it in and chewed thoughtfully for a second, then pronounced:

"Al dente. We're good."

He turned off the burner and moved the pot to the sink, where he lifted out the pasta strainer portion and drained it, then dumped it into the waiting sauce.

"This just needs a minute or two to simmer, and we're ready."

He turned again and opened the oven, pulling out a pan with chicken breasts coated in something golden and crumbly. He looked up at her as he set the pan on a trivet.

"If you like chicken parmesan, you'll like this even better. It has breadcrumbs and herbs and it's baked so it's healthier, and it's really easy actually."

He was so cute when he was being June Cleaver. This was something she never thought she would appreciate in a partner, but it had grown on her. He turned to the fridge and grabbed a hunk of parmesan cheese and a rasp grater from the drawer. She rose and started to gather plates and utensils.

"Mother, Alexis, I have food, come kiss up to me!" he sing-songed up toward the stairs.

She heard both bedroom doors open in under a minute and Martha and Alexis were there, helping set the table and filling glasses. Rick plated pasta and chicken while Alexis tossed the salad she'd retrieved from the fridge. They'd said hello, of course, but this was all such a normal occurrence that Martha had stopped repeating her usual exclamation of "Kate, darling!" every time she was there for dinner.

Hmm. Something to contemplate.

"So when is the great unveiling scheduled?" Alexis asked, twirling her fork into her spaghetti.

They were sitting around the table, chicken and pasta half-devoured, on their second glasses of wine.

"It should be up by tomorrow night. What do you say, Kate, should we do the honors before dinner or after?"

She smiled across at him. She was really here. He was really looking at her with that look—that permanent, comfortable, I'm-not-scared-to-death-she-won't-be-here-tomorrow look. He continued without a verbal response, which was good, because she wasn't sure she could manage one.

"I just hope we're not out on a case. I want to know what you two think of it."

"If Kate liked it, I'm sure it's tasteful and thought-provoking, dear."

"If it was you picking it out, I'd be worried about a repeat of the Muppet-poker-dog fiasco of 2004." Alexis looked askance at her father, then shifted to Kate and mouthed: "Really not good."

Kate laughed out loud at even the thought.

"What? It was cute." Rick sounded defensively petulant.

"Richard, dear, Rolfe and his buddies playing cards? That's at least two steps beyond the tackiness of the standard dogs playing poker."

And Martha calling "tacky" on her son was truly saying something…

"But it was right after _Avenue Q_ came out. Puppets were in!"

He snagged another piece of garlic bread from the basket on the table.

"Dad, Muppets playing poker were never 'in.'"

Somehow Alexis, despite being the youngest at the table by more than a decade, carried the most weight with her opinions on matters of taste. Kate thought back to her conversation with Rick about weird modern art with new perspective.

"Now I see why you wanted my help picking out art. Dare I ask what you did with it?"

Kate refilled Martha's glass of wine and hers.

"We donated it to St. Jude's Children's Hospital." Rick pulled back on his whininess and sounded proud.

"My idea," Alexis added. "We got a whole album full of crayon-drawn thank-you notes from kids who were in the hospital."

This family could melt her heart. Maybe that's how they'd weaseled their way inside it when she wasn't looking.

She had on her silk pajamas. She saved them for nights when she was feeling… sentimental. There was nothing particularly special about a weeknight in April, but she was having bursts of unsought warmth toward Rick. She was really touched by the giant crate in his entryway. No one had ever indulged her artistic whims that way, except maybe her mom.

She could admit to herself in the near-dark of his bedroom, lit by the crack under the bathroom door, that she had fallen in love with the sculpture. She hadn't meant for him to buy it—that hadn't been her intention. But she had been captivated by the symbolism.

Rick was on the surface a whimsical, twisting, flighty thing, but so much of that was a well-crafted illusion. He was made of sterner stuff—solid mass that he had hewn into a fluid form. And when his whimsy came up against her reinforced, straight-edged façade, it was he who had reformed, reshaped, and drawn upon his sturdy constitution in order to meld them into a matching pair.

And they did match. They matched better than anyone she had ever been with. She almost hated to think it, but she thought they might match better than even her own parents had. When she did stop to think it, it stopped her in her tracks. That was such an impossibility in her world. Benchmarks were made, high water marks were set based on her parents. Where did she, broken and half-horrible and unworthy as she was, get off comparing herself and her relationship with that of her parents?

The slice of light slid wider across the bed as Rick exited the bathroom. He switched off the light and crawled under the covers, no longer self-conscious about closing the distance between them. He spooned up behind her and drew her back against him with his arm tight around her waist.

They had had a long day—a good one, with a case closed and a family's questions answered—but a long day. It was near midnight now, and they were on call. Somehow, though, time spent with Alexis and Martha, talking about modern art and museums and literature over Cherry Garcia and Imagine Whirled Peace and Chunky Monkey (without the addition of gummy worms) was something she couldn't bring herself to regret.

"My family loves you." He whispered it against her ear as he kissed gently along the line of her jaw.

She knew he would snuggle against her and sleep, completely satisfied to have her there with him, in his arms. But she wasn't satisfied with that, not tonight.

"I love your family. Almost as much as I love you."

She turned her head, seeking his lips, and he met hers gently. When they parted, she spoke.

"Rick, I'm happy. I'm really happy. It's important to me that you to know that."

He smiled as he pressed his lips against her cheek. When he spoke, his eyes swam just enough for the moonlight through the window to illuminate the unshed tears.

"I see it. At least I think I can see it, every day. But I'm always worried I'm imagining things that aren't there."

"They are there. I have trouble admitting it to myself sometimes, but they're there."

"Good."

She turned in his arms then, pressed her body against his, felt the firmness of his arms and his shoulders and his chest against her. He encased her in his strength; let her be soft and quiet and calm and free from whatever she once called a wall, replacing that over-wrought and manufactured shield with just his body, his flesh and bone. But what he offered was more than enough; she wanted for nothing here.

The shift from embrace to rapture was subtle. A drifting of hands, an unfastening of buttons, a sliding of silk over skin—all seemed a natural progression. Pleasure built from peace, morphed into slow and steady passion. They joined with a soft gasp, neither sure to whom it belonged, and they built slowly, surely, toward fulfillment.

When they fell together, clinging tight, whispering love and forever, she believed every word—for once not just his, but also her own. And when she slept, naked against him, she dreamt well.

**A/N: We are nearing a potential end her, folks. I have the Rick+Kate+Dora chapter still in the works, but I might end it soon after. Feedback? **


	20. Chapter 20

Enlightenment 20

She just couldn't take her eyes off it. Ever since Castle had pulled the cloth off with an overly-dramatic flourish a month ago, she had to pull herself away from the sculpture every time she walked through the living room. And in the past four weeks, she was somewhat embarrassed to think that had been every day. Well, every day except for the one 36-hour stint in the precinct with the triple homicide. She had gone to her place exactly five times, each time to get clothes or shoes or beauty products or her ipod or a book Rick didn't have.

It was rare that she was here when the loft was empty, though. Alexis was at one of her many pre-pre-graduation events. Martha was teaching. Rick had a meeting with Paula about scheduling book events for the summer. And it was just after noon on Saturday, without bodies, unclosed cases, or being on call.

She pulled herself away from the pure white marble ribbon yet again to take her latest batch of items into Rick's closet. The empty racks and drawers and shelves had been slowly filling in. A leather jacket here, a few button-downs there. She added three pairs of jeans and four blouses to the rack, dropped a stack of sweaters into a drawer, and set two pairs of heels and one pair of boots on the shoe rack.

The last items in her duffel went into the large and nearly empty top drawer of the dresser. She had finally brought over some of the lingerie. It was mostly bras and underwear, things she could wear to work, but she had also brought the camisole sets and the infamous garter belt. He asked her every single time she wore a skirt if she had it on. He'd only gotten a "yes" once since the first time she wore it, but they hadn't stayed long at the fancy restaurant that night, either.

She stepped back and assessed. Compared to her own closet, this one still seemed empty, but that was probably because her closet space was about one tenth the size of what she had here. By her standards, when she had removed the items from her own racks today, they seemed empty as well—a tangible representation of how things were shifting inside her.

When Rick said "let's go home" these days, she assumed it was here. When she thought about going to her place, to the solitude she could find there, solitude that used to soothe her, bring out the artist, the woman, from under the façade of the cop and the badass, now she just thought about the emptiness of the space. There was no teenage voice chattering on the phone with her bedroom door open, no overly-dramatic matriarch prodding her to have more fun while pouring her more wine.

And most disturbing, or maybe it should be most comforting, was the fact that she knew the woman, the artist, the truest version of herself, flowed most easily from her when she was with Rick. He encouraged her, supported her, even snarked at her when necessary, to make sure she was letting the job go when the job was done.

She loved her work. He loved her work. He would never try to distract her from it, but when she wasn't working, he was begging her to play her guitar (which was sitting next to the piano in the living room now) or teach him and/or Alexis one of her mom's recipes. She was slow in coming around. He'd had to snag the guitar and her music folder from her apartment one day when she wasn't looking to get it over to the loft.

Something was seeping in from under the edges of her psyche, and for once it wasn't fear or foreboding. It was a stubborn sense of rightness about them that she had never before experienced with a man, but which would not fade with Castle. All those earlier self-chastising thoughts about foregone conclusions suddenly seemed silly. If she let it in, let all of it in, she felt flooded with what she would have considered ridiculous optimism in every other relationship she had been in.

She kept hearing a lyric in her mind, one from a singer-songwriter she had loved since before she was Alexis' age: "Just remember that the wrong things aren't supposed to last." She'd always held that close to her heart when someone had let her down, but now she was beginning to think the opposite was also true. Maybe she wasn't being so ridiculous when she thought that she and Rick had a real chance. If she had ever met a "right thing" before, she didn't recognize it now. They all paled in comparison to even her darkest moments with Rick Castle.

She had an impulse then, as she surveyed his closet.

Their closet.

It was theirs.

It was time.

She jumped when his hands feathered around her waist.

"I think we should fill that up."

He spoke right into her ear, tilting his head toward the still-open and mostly-empty top drawer.

"Do you, now?"

She was intentionally teasing, keeping her voice light, because her heart was racing as though she'd been caught with a giant thought bubble over her head, spelling out what she'd just realized.

"I do. What are you doing for the rest of the afternoon?"

He nuzzled against her neck, lips brushing skin and instantly setting off goose bumps. She thought she knew where this was going. Well, one of two places, anyway. She went with the one that didn't involve ripping his clothes off immediately.

"You want to go to Dora's today?"

"Why not?" He raised an eyebrow and smirked, almost in challenge. Well, she was up for a challenge.

"Okay, why not?"

She turned in his arms and wrapped hers around his neck. Now or never. She kept going, flowing on a wave of excited nerves.

"I need to tell you something."

She knew she was biting her lower lip, and she knew that was one of her tells, but she just couldn't help it right now.

She was bubbling over.

She was never this optimistic, and she just didn't know what to do with herself.

"Is this a good something?" He looked wary, despite his half-smile.

"I think so." God she had to stop with the adrenaline; it was going to make her start shaking.

"OK, then. Let's hear it." He visibly relaxed.

"I've just been standing here thinking, a lot of my stuff is here." She looked up at the rack of her clothes.

"I can see that. I helped carry some of it." His hands were rubbing up and down her back, soothing and igniting nerves alternately.

"And I haven't really been back to my place much lately." She met his eyes again.

"True."

God, he was smiling that knowing smile, telling her he knew exactly where she was going with this, but he wasn't about to make her work any less hard for it.

"So maybe it's starting to make sense…" she paused, not quite able to complete the thought aloud.

After a long beat of silence, tongue and lips frozen, unable to finish her unplanned declaration, he finally bailed her out.

"…for you to just bring the rest of it over here. It would be practical, so you don't have to keep making trips back and forth."

"Exactly. Practical." She smiled, wide and toothy and relieved and yet completely nervous to know what the hell he was going to say.

He leaned in to whisper into her ear.

"Katherine Beckett, did you just invite yourself to move in with me?"

Her whole body felt like it was shimmering, shiny with the relief of releasing this bubble of happiness out into the air. She reigned herself in enough to sound almost like herself.

"What? I have no idea what you're talking about. But now that you mention it, it's not a bad idea, really."

"You're impossible, do you know that?"

"Yeah, kinda."

He leaned in and kissed her so thoroughly she thought his next move would be toward the bed. Instead, he framed her face with his hands and pulled back far enough to see her eyes. He smiled his most devilish grin.

"Guess what? This means we're going to Dora's. Right now. You have a drawer to fill."

So she was moving in. They would figure out the details, but she was doing this. And she'd instigated it. Burke would ask her how she felt about being the one to make the move, take the step to advance their relationship. She had her answer all ready. Free. She felt free.

The now-familiar bell chimed as she pushed open the door and stepped inside.

"Katie, darlin'! It's been too long!"

Dora was manning the desk and the champagne today, and she wasted no time in crossing to give Kate a hug. Rick was attached to her other hand, and came in just after Dora headed in their direction.

"Dora, I want you to meet Rick Castle."

What Kate's detective instincts told her was recognition flashed briefly over the other woman's face, but she held out her hand toward Rick without a pause.

"It's a pleasure to know you, Rick."

"The pleasure is all mine, Dora."

She slipped right back into Texan hospitality mode, crossing to get them each a glass of champagne.

"So what can I help you two beautiful people with this afternoon?"

"She's got to fill a new top drawer."

Dora turned to face them, knowing glance moving from Rick's beaming face to Kate's slightly embarrassed smile.

"Oh, so am I to assume this drawer comes with half a closet and perhaps most of the drawers in the bathroom?"

Kate couldn't help the little chuckle that escaped at Dora's presumptuous and straightforward form of snooping.

"She can have all the drawers in the bathroom, as far as I'm concerned."

Rick squeezed her hand and smiled at Dora.

She thought a flicker of understanding passed between the two of them, but that might have been Kate's imagination.

"Well, how about you take these," she handed them each champagne, "and head back to your room, Katie, and I'll be there soon with some things to try on?"

They turned toward the curtain that led back to the dressing rooms, and Dora followed close behind.

"I'm so thrilled for you two. I can't lie—I had a feeling about this Fresh Start, Katie."

Kate felt the woman give her an encouraging pat on the shoulder, but she noticed Rick jump slightly as they went through the curtain.

Dora turned back to her merchandise as they continued down the hall toward the blue room.

"What?"

"Dora just patted me on the butt."

Kate laughed a full belly-laugh at that as she opened the door to the dressing room.

"She must like you, Rick!"

"Apparently…"

She watched him take in the room, scan the pieces of furniture, the mirrors, then finally select the chaise lounge and take a seat. She didn't quite know what to do, other than remove her jacket and hang it on the hook on the back of the door.

She crossed to Rick and held out her glass of champagne. He tapped his flute with hers and they took a sip.

"Nervous?"

God he could read her. Not that it would be so hard right now.

"Maybe."

"Why?" He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her down into his lap. "I've seen you in lingerie before, and I've seen you decidedly without lingerie. I love you, and you're the most beautiful woman in the entire world, so what do you have to be self-conscious about?"

He smiled and kissed her in that perfect spot behind her ear, the one that immediately turned her boneless.

Dora knocked and came in, completely unfazed by their cuddling on her sofa.

"Okay, so I have these grouped by genre: we have sweet and romantic," she hung a set of long, silk and satin nightgowns on one hook, "fun and fearless," she hung up some brightly-colored and slightly skimpier items on another wall, "and wow." She hung the last group, what little volume of material there was of it, on a third hook and looked over at Kate and Rick.

"Now don't you two come out until you have a full top drawer."

She opened the door and reached out, then reappeared with the rest of the bottle of champagne she must have just opened before they came in. She left it on the side table next to them.

"Or until you've finished this. Whichever takes longer. Holler if you need more options."

She smiled and turned, and Kate thought she saw a little extra swagger in her stride as she exited and shut the door. Oh good lord, no turning back now.

Kate stood and headed for the most demure selection. Before she got too far away, Rick reached out and smacked her lightly on the behind.

She turned and gave him a smiling version of the death glare, which when she really thought about it, completely negated the "death" part.

"What? You were sitting in my lap, and now you're going to strip for me. I thought that warranted a little macho posturing."

"You want me to strip for you, you'll remember what you said the first time you suggested coming to Dora's with me."

He raised his hand and his champagne in surrender.

"Sitting, behaving, hands to myself."

She looked into his eyes across the small room and lifted her sweater over her head. No point in drawing this out. She kept her eyes on his as she unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans, then she stepped out of her shoes and slid the dark denim down her legs and off. She stood and caught his eyes again. He'd been watching her face more than anything else, much to his credit.

She reached behind her back and unfastened her relatively utilitarian bra, shrugging her shoulders out of it. His gaze was unwavering, enraptured. She left her underwear on for the nightgowns, but stood before him nearly naked.

"My god you're hot. Don't tell Dora, but you don't need any of this to make me want you."

She laughed, oh who the hell was she kidding, she giggled, and turned to grab the first nightgown.

"I think she knows that, Rick. She's banking on the gift-wrap effect. Presents are always more enticing when you have to unwrap them. Something about the mystery of what you're going to find when you start peeling away layers."

She had a black sheer silk gown over her head before she really knew what it looked like. Once she had tugged it into place, she stepped in from of the full length mirrors, turning her back toward Rick.

"That is a definite yes."

She looked in the mirror and saw that he had a full view, back and front. That's why he'd picked that spot on the sofa. His eyes were scanning from her lower back downward.

She turned to look at her back in a mirror and saw why he liked it. She thought she'd felt a draft. The gown was sheer but covered everything in front fairly well. In back, rather than a slit up from the center of the skirt, it was accurate to say the seam down the center never really came together. It was sort of laced down her back, but showed most of her assets from behind. Definitely required fancy underwear.

He voted yes to every nightgown she put on, even the blush pink satin one with the matching sheer robe that had flower appliqués all along the back of the gown and the edges of the robe. She was about to stop listening to him when she turned around to face him after pulling on the last gown. She wasn't sure why Dora had put it in the mix, as it was fairly demure, pure white satin. It looked like bridal lingerie.

And then she looked up at Rick and saw something in his eyes she hadn't seen before. It was longing, and awe, and no small measure of hope hitting her full force. She slipped on the robe and stepped over in front of the mirror, suddenly shy. For the first time, he stood and stepped up behind her to look over her shoulder into the mirror.

He was seeing her standing before him on their wedding night, wearing this simple, romantic white gown.

"Please, Kate."

He said it so quietly she almost didn't hear him, but she met his eyes in the mirror. She wasn't sure if the question he was asking was about buying the lingerie, or about the occasion that they both knew it was for. Damn this wholly impractical, unthinking, reckless mood she'd been in all day- she was answering both when she nodded to his reflection.

He was standing back, keeping himself at a distance and keeping his hands to himself as he'd promised, but she found she didn't want him to anymore. She turned and caught his lips in a kiss, just a chaste press of lips, hands flattening against his chest, feeling the warmth radiating off him.

She pulled away and quickly turned back to the hanger for the gown, shedding it and the robe and re-hanging them quickly. Shifting to the next hook, she pulled on a burgundy chemise and matching shorts striped in light blue lace. She took a breath before facing him again, afraid of what she'd let show through. But when she did turn, she saw Rick had resumed his seat and was thoughtfully sipping his champagne.

"I like this one." She had moved to the mirror and was taking in her reflection.

He met her eyes, blinking back into the present from whatever future he had drifted into in his mind.

"I could wear it under my work clothes." Her eyes sparkled back toward his reflection, trying to resurrect the light-hearted banter from before. He smiled, and it almost reached his eyes.

She went through the "fun and fearless" stack fairly quickly. Dora had her size and her color preferences nailed-no wonder this place did such good business.

Truth be told, she liked just about everything she'd tried on. She made herself a "no" hook anyway, since she wasn't about to buy, or let Rick buy, all of this.

The far-away look had faded from his eyes over the course of several very short nighties, and he was back to dark eyes and salacious looks by the time she had started on the "wow" items.

The first one was pretty simple, she thought-just a black silk nightie similar to the prior items. But as she tugged it over her head, she heard Rick take in a breath. She turned to the mirror and immediately saw why. This nightie, despite being black and cut demurely, was tight and completely sheer. Completely sheer. Wow. Ok, so he apparently was voting for this one, if the nearly-drooling, open-mouthed stare was any indication.

She smirked and returned to the other hangers to grab the next one in the lineup.

Four utterly sexy outfits later, Rick was about to come out of his skin. He was shifting, crossing and uncrossing his legs on the sofa, couldn't keep his hand still. She slipped on one of the last items—a sheer grey silk camisole with matching underwear that required tying at both hips. She did up the ties on the underwear, but realized the camisole also had a tie in back and decided to up the ante. She added extra oomph to the sway of her hips as she crossed to where Rick sat, twitching. She turned to face away from him, his eyes even with her scantily-clad bottom, and pushed her shoulders back.

"Tie me up?"

She could see his face in the mirror, gaping, unable to break his gaze from her derriere.

"Wha… what?"

"The bow, Rick. Tie the bow."

He blinked and shook his head slightly, then his eyes found the elusive silk strips, dangling down her back. He reached out, hands shaking slightly, and tied a bow. At least, she thought he went through the motions of a bow. How artistic or successful he'd been, she couldn't be sure from her angle.

She stepped forward to line herself up to look at her back in the mirrors, and he stood.

"I'm going to, uh, go get us some more champagne."

He nearly stumbled on his way to the door, but he ducked out unscathed.

Kate couldn't help it; she laughed and rolled her eyes at the door. So predictable.

She was getting this one, for sure. Anything that made him trip over his own feet like that was worth the price.

Kate quickly tried on the last two sets of bras and panties, dressed, and divvied up her piles into yeses and nos. When she stepped out into the hallway, she heard Rick talking with Dora in low tones through the curtain dividing the hallway with the dressing rooms from the front of the store.

"So she's going to have a big pile of no's. I was thinking, maybe you could put those aside and then send them over to our place, one at a time, even. I'll give you the address, and you can charge my card for them now—I'll cover all the shipping, too, of course, or a courier, or whatever."

"Rick, from the day I met you I had a good feelin' about you, you little devil. You know you may be the last truly romantic male left in this town. Man after my own heart."

She knew it! They were putting on an act. He'd been here before. This was where the silk pajamas had come from. How had she not seen them either of the two times she'd been here? She couldn't take it; she was calling them out on this. She shoved the curtain aside with her hand full of yeses.

"You two are conspiring! Castle, when did you really meet Dora?"

They froze as soon as they heard the curtain. Rick kept his mouth shut, facing away from her. Dora, on the other hand, smiled like she was thoroughly pleased to have been found out.

"Oh, I knew you'd figure us out-quick as a whip that one is."

Dora directed her smug expression at Rick and pointed her red-lacquered index finger at Kate as she crossed the room toward them.

Rick turned as she reached his side and whacked him with the hangers full of lingerie.

"Ow!"

She whacked him again in the same spot.

"Okay! Fine! Stop injuring me! I came here once before. It was… it was right after… I got your pajamas here that Monday morning on my way home."

She just couldn't bring herself to be that mad. She smiled at his shy shoulder shrug.

"He was as cute as a button that day. I knew right off who he was, but I didn't let on. I had to figure out if his intentions were honorable first."

Rick turned to Dora now, mouth open, a shocked expression on his face.

"How did you know who I was?"

"You used the exact same words in the same adorable, completely over-the-moon tone of voice as she used to describe why you were here."

Kate smirked at him as he sheepishly grinned at her.

"So give me all of those, Katie darlin'. No use leaving them here, when I'm just going to ship 'em over to your place eventually. Though, if you like getting pretty packages from a lingerie store, I'm happy to oblige…"

"Fine." Kate handed both batches of lingerie over the counter. "But you are not allowed to let him buy me anything else without me."

"Oh, now, Katie, I'm sorry, I love you like my own baby girl, but I do draw the line at getting in the middle in this sort of situation. You two argue amongst yourselves, hopefully with the benefit of these—" she held up some of the skimpy items in each hand "—for making up afterwards, and when you decide about who will be buying whom which little bits of silk and satin, come talk to me. Meanwhile, give me your email addresses and I'll put you on my list for new merchandise."

Hopeless. This was a hopeless battle. Among Rick, Dora, and Lanie (and she could only blame herself for introducing the M. E. into this sordid little quadrangle), she was doomed to have enough lingerie to last three lifetimes. Maybe four.

Rick passed Dora a business card after scribbling her email on the back.

His look turned serious, focusing on Kate briefly and then shifting to Dora. He reached out and grabbed Kate's hand, though, squeezing as he spoke.

"Dora, I'd like for you to come to Saturday night dinner some weekend. Meet my daughter and my mother. Kate would be there, too, of course."

He glanced over at her, his expression tumbling toward certainty but silently asking for approval. She smiled.

"Are you sure about that, Castle? You two look like you might want a little more time alone..."

He saw the tease for what it was and turned back to Dora.

"I can make some Texas barbeque, and my daughter makes a mean potato salad. You'll feel like you're back in Fort Worth."

Despite her obvious surprise at the abrupt and rather personal invitation, Dora raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.

"Now how did you learn how to make Texas barbeque?"

"Research for a book, actually. And well, Texas barbeque is all about mesquite under the grill and brisket on top, with just enough sauce to make your mouth water, and what man doesn't like a good side of slow-smoked beef?"

Kate was impressed—he gave Dora the full eyebrow-waggle that he usually reserved for trying to get her into bed. This was just a dinner invitation.

Dora's eyes softened. Kate couldn't tell what exactly had shifted inside the older woman, but she was back to the co-conspirator who had toasted to Kate's Fresh Start against her own strict no-drinking-champagne-with-customers policy, far from the saleswoman and immaculate business professional of seconds before.

"Well, I suppose as you two are—" she dropped into a whisper, despite the fact that they were the only ones in the store "—my favorite customers," she returned to nearly normal volume and twang, "I could maybe see my way to sharing my Daddy's secret sauce recipe. It's really no use trying to heat a side of Texas beef if you don't know how to sauce it."

She winked—actually winked—at Rick.

Kate couldn't help it—she chimed in with that same bubbling optimism she hadn't been able to squelch all afternoon.

"It's settled, then. You tell us the Saturday, we'll rally the troops."

They were going to entertain, together. This woman, this kind, lovely, meddling cog in the machine of their relationship, was coming to dinner. And nothing had ever felt more natural to Kate, who could count on one hand the number of times she had cooked a meal for someone that wasn't family. And truthfully, some of those had involved the man standing next to her, and she couldn't really not call him family anymore.

"I think I'd like that." Dora smiled a wistful smile at them both, rang up their purchases, and ran Rick's card through.

A few moments of silence passed, Rick's hand clutching hers.

"I'd like that very much." Dora folded the last of their items into two large bags and passed them across to Rick and Kate.

"And so would we," Rick replied. "Home, dear?"

Something swelled, stretched, filled hollow spaces inside her she hadn't realized were still there at those words. She grabbed a bag with her free hand as he did, then lifted their other joined hands to her lips and kissed this knuckles.

"Yeah, let's go home."

As they left the store, a pair of soft eyes followed, filled, then quietly overflowed.

**A/N: So Enlightenment is not quite done with me yet. There should be a chapter posted to "Extra" in the next couple of days. And when this story is done, there will be a sequel. It just makes me too happy to stop right now, before the finale…**

**Lingerie list to google: **

**Jane Woolrich 3474 , 0771 and 0781 , 7974 and 7981 ; Elise Aucouturier Oops Martini Camisole , Jean Yu style 501 , Liliana Casanova Odean Camisole and Knicker set.**

**Song references to search on iTunes:**

**Mary Chapin Carpenter, no copyright infringement intended. Listen to "This is Love," from the album "Stones in the Road." Just listen to the whole album, while you're at it. It's worth it. And then, if you want to get inside Kate's head on her decision to move in, find "Almost Home," from the album "Party Doll and Other Favorites." It's loosely where I think she is at this point in my version of their story, and where I wish she was in AWM's version.**


	21. Chapter 21

**Enlightenment 21**

"Dad, you're really going to wear that?"

Kate had given up on trying to get him take off the hat an hour ago.

"Absolutely. I cannot, in good conscience, serve barbequed Texas beef brisket with Dora's daddy's secret sauce and not wear a cowboy hat."

He was walking back inside from the grill out on the patio for the fifteenth time in the past six hours.

"You really don't think she's going to feel like you're making fun of her? Wearing that in the house? With the boots? And the Wrangler jeans?"

"Hey, I did not buy that western shirt with the piping. I totally could have. It had fringe."

Kate was snickering quietly while icing down the tea. He really had almost bought the god-awful rhinestone-encrusted monstrosity online. She had convinced him to opt for flannel instead, which was now mostly covered by his black apron with the phrase: "You can't beat my meat," in white letters across his chest. At least the one he'd made her wear was slightly more benign: "All this and I can cook."

"And listen, I got this hat in San Antonio, at Paris Hatters. Fitted and blocked just for me. They're a world renowned source for authentic cowboy hats. Kid Rock bought a hat there. The last Pope did too!"

"Yes, and obviously they are the benchmarks for cowboy hats in Texas…"

"Fine. Merle Haggard. Dwight Yoakum. FOUR Presidents. And—" he paused for effect—she'd heard this part three times in the past week—"Johnny and June Carter Cash."

Alexis rolled her eyes and went back to mixing the dressing for the potato salad.

Kate couldn't complain about the hat—it was a classy-looking straw, not too big or dude-ranchy. And she certainly couldn't complain about the skin-tight dark denim. She kept having to remind herself that Alexis and Martha were in the room every time he walked back and forth through the kitchen.

The Pandora "George Strait" station was adding atmosphere, and they had Shiner and Lone Star icing in a cooler by the wine room. There was something that looked suspiciously like white bread, sliced thick, that Rick kept referring to as "Texas toast" on one counter. A pecan pie was sitting on a cooling rack, looking like it had been baked in their over rather than in the bake shop around the corner from his loft. And her contribution had been her mom's coleslaw. Rick took the lid off of the pinto beans and stirred once, tasted, and added salt.

If bluebonnets had been in season, she was sure he'd have imported some. Unfortunately, they had peaked in March this year (warm winter), so he had settled for two mini cactuses as a centerpiece on the dining room table, holding down the giant sheets of brown paper he had insisted upon using to cover the table itself.

Martha was swirling the glass of red wine in her hand with an inquisitive expression.

"I never would have thought that they could make decent wine in Texas, but this—what did you say this was, darling?"

"Claret. Becker claret. They grow it in the Hill Country. Had it when I was down there. Goes great with brisket."

"It's really quite serviceable."

"And we are all familiar with your extravagant tastes."

"Well, I can't help it if I've developed a palate after years of careful study."

Everyone had gone along with Rick's request to include something "Texas-inspired" in their wardrobe. Alexis and Martha were in denim. Martha was taking the phrase "denim and diamonds" literally, though, with her largest studs dripping off her ears to counterbalance her jeans. Alexis had at least done Texas colors—blue denim skirt, red tank, white button-down tied at the waist. Kate had gone with jeans, too, but she wore a black tailored shirt. Rick had insisted on pinning a tiny Texas flag pin on her shirt pocket, though.

With the whole family in the kitchen, it was a bit of a tight squeeze, but they generally had not tripped over each other. It helped that Rick disappeared to the grill so frequently. Then it had been just her and Alexis actively cooking, with Martha cheering them on.

She'd shown Alexis the recipe for the coleslaw, and she'd gotten the run down on the potato salad. Apparently her father liked it creamy, with mustard and sweet pickle relish. It hadn't exactly been a staple at Kate's house, so she absorbed it while shredding cabbage.

The group potato peeling contest was probably the most fun she'd had in a kitchen since her mom was with her. She and Rick and Alexis had all had their own peelers, each had an equal pile of Yukon Gold's washed and dried in front of them, and Martha was officiating. Rick took the early lead, but to his dismay, Martha called him for leaving too much peel on his potatoes and he had to go back and re-do half of them.

Alexis obviously knew what she was doing, going after each potato in an orderly and thorough skinning that left them pristine. Kate, on the other hand, fell somewhere in between. She couldn't help it, she liked a little bit of skin on her potatoes. And she didn't have quite the same methodical approach to cooking as she did with murder. At the end of the day, if your potato had some skin on it, no one was going to get acquitted of murder as a result.

Kate actually made it through her pile first, but Alexis took honors in cleanliness and artistry. Rick just started swapping his scrappy potatoes for Alexis' when she was turned toward the garbage can dumping peelings. In the end, the potatoes were all peeled and cubed and boiling in a pot on the stove, and Kate just had to keep pinching herself. All of this was real. All of it was happening. Things that she had never dared to hope were materializing with minimal effort or thought or planning on her part. She hadn't had to orchestrate a single thing in this day, this glorious, easy, fun day off from the precinct in which she cooked a meal with… her family.

A knock at the door snapped her out of her musings.

Martha, being closest and without a culinary implement in her hand, opened the door to reveal her father, clad in jeans, though no cowboy hat or boots, and carrying a grocery bag with a stalk of mint sprouting out the top.

"Thank you for coming, Jim!" She stepped back to make way.

"It's a pleasure, Martha. I hate to admit it, since you probably get this all the time, but I'm a fan." He shook her hand warmly and then turned to the kitchen. "Katie, I found mint. What is this for anyway?"

He was taking a chair and handing the bag across while reaching to shake Rick's hand.

"Iced tea, dad. It's a southern thing. They like fresh mint in their glasses, according to Rick."

The mint passed across the kitchen to Kate, who removed, rinsed, and began to pinch off sprigs.

Alexis had just coated her potatoes with the concoction of dressing and set them in the fridge as Jim entered, so she circled to sit next to him.

"You must be Alexis. I've heard a lot about you."

"If it came from my dad, none of it was true. If it came from Kate, all of it was."

She shook his hand from her chair alongside him.

"I really do feel like I know both of you, even though we haven't met."

"We're just thrilled you could come to this crazy Texas barbeque. Have you met this Dora woman we are all waiting to entertain?" Martha took up the seat at the end of the counter.

"I haven't, but I've heard a lot about her, too. I get the feeling she's going to fit in here just fine."

He smirked in the direction of Castle's cowboy hat.

Kate handed him a glass of iced tea.

"You get to be the guinea pig, Dad."

He raised his glass to the room and sipped.

"Sweet… and minty. I kind of like it."

She handed one to Alexis.

She clinked her glass with Jim's.

"Here's to guinea pigs."

She sipped cautiously.

"Not bad."

There was another knock at the door, and this time Kate motioned Martha to keep her seat at the next to Alexis.

Kate rounded the counter, kissed her father on the cheek, and dashed to the door. When she opened it, there she was, the Texan herself.

Kate almost did a double-take. Dora was wearing jeans, well-worn brown boots, and a button-down cotton blouse, and her hair was braided down her back. She was wearing make-up, but it was subtle, and her string of pearls was tucked under her collar.

She was carrying two Tupperware containers stacked in one hand and a bouquet of hydrangeas in the other.

"Hello, Katie, darlin.' Thank you so much for havin' me."

"What's all this?"

"These are for you." She handed Kate the flowers and used her now free arm to pull her into a hug. "And these are my momma's deviled eggs."

Rick had followed behind Kate to the door. He hugged Dora and relieved her of the food.

"I'd be happy to put these in the kitchen."

"And in your belly, no doubt. Nice hat." They followed him back toward the kitchen.

"Dora, I'd like for you to meet our family. This is my mother, Martha, and my daughter, Alexis. And this is Kate's father, Jim."

The three had stood and now shook hands with their guest of honor.

"It's lovely to meet you all. Rick, you never told me you had such beautiful ladies at home. No wonder you're such a charmer."

"I take no credit nor blame for just how charming he can be," Martha deadpanned.

Kate found a vase for the flowers, then poured Dora a glass of tea.

Rick had opened the plastic containers and pulled out the two trays of eggs.

"Now my only warning is that one tray is Rattlesnake eggs."

Rick had already popped an egg in his mouth and was happy chewing, but his eyebrows suddenly went up.

"What's a rattlesnake egg? Not really…" Alexis was doing her best not to seem aghast.

"No, baby girl, of course not a real rattlesnake eggs! They have fresh jalepeno diced into the filling, and there's chipotle chili powder on top instead of paprika. What's the verdict, grill master?" She directed what could only be called a challenging glance at Rick.

His face had flushed slightly and a few beads of perspiration popped out on his forehead. He was reaching for a beer from the ice bucket as he answered.

"I had always wondered why they were called 'devilled eggs,'" he opened a bottle of Shiner and gulped a few times as Alexis snickered. "Definitely have a kick to them." He reached for another one though.

"I figured if any city slicker oughtta be able to handle a little extra heat, it would be Richard Castle."

#####

"Oh my Lord, I'm glad I wore my comfy jeans to this shindig! Do you happen to have a wheelbarrow to get me out to my car later?"

"You saved room for pecan pie, didn't you?" Alexis quirked an eyebrow across the table at their guest.

"Now you hit me with pie? After all that brisket? And the potato salad? Honey, I need that recipe, by the way."

"I'll trade you for the devilled egg recipe. With and without the rattlesnake."

"Deal. But on the question of pie, I think I need a breather."

"How about a little tour?" Rick shoved back away from the end of the table.

"I thought you would never ask! Show me the rest of this palace."

As Rick and Kate took her through the rooms, she ooohed and aaahed politely at his paintings, his book collection, his taste in furniture, but when he walked her by the marble sculpture, she stopped in her tracks.

"So this is the infamous art! I'll admit I saw the photos when the _Times_ reviewed the artist, but two-dimensions just do not do this work justice. Look at how she's set this up, the rock-solid foundation supporting, keeping steady, letting the ribbon find its own way, realize its potential, be free."

Huh. A foundation, not a wall. Kate had been staring at it for two months now, and every single time she had seen it the other way around. Dora seemed to snap out of her own little trance staring at the sculpture as the song changed on the Pandora playlist. Kate was the first to admit, she didn't listen to much country music, so she had no idea who most of these artists were, but Dora's eyes had lit up when certain songs had come on, and she was lighting up again now.

"Now you have all this honky-tonk music playing, making me homesick for Billy Bob's, but this song—this is a two-stepping song. I'm going to hazard a guess that none of you city kids knows how to two-step."

"And I think you'd be right." Rick smiled apologetically.

"Well, how about something a little more useful at charity balls—the fox trot?" She stepped up to Rick and held out her arms to dance with him.

"I have been known to hold my own with the fox trot."

He stepped up and took her offered hand, placed her other one on his shoulder, and reached around her back.

"I just thought you might. Now, pretend you're doing the fox trot with a little less finesse. Start with your left, and your timing is quick, quick, slow, slow, at the start of the measure."

Martha and Alexis were watching intently from the kitchen sink, where they were sudsing pots and pans and loading the dishwasher. Jim paused from slicing up the pie and moved around so he could see past the island. Apparently they were all just as wary as she was that Rick was stretching the limits of his grace, style and coordination.

"And don't be nervous with my toes. That's what the boots are for."

He smiled and nodded his head in time with the measure, then very impressively took off on his left foot and proceeded to guide her across from the far corner by the wine room, past the island and the dining room table. He was approaching the stairs with a somewhat nervous glint in his eye.

"Now just a little quarter turn to your left. You always progress counter-clockwise with the two-step."

Kate was truly impressed. He skirted around the corner neatly and continued, then turned them again to cut between the coffee table and the chairs in the living room, ending back almost where they had started.

"See? Now wasn't that just as easy as pie?" She grinned up at her partner.

Dora stepped back and clapped for him, setting off a round of applause from the whole group.

"Dad, how did you do that? You already knew how to two-step—admit it!"

"Daughter, I can honestly say that until this moment, I had never danced a single step to a country and western song."

"This is not just any country song—this is George Strait. Where I come from, people who don't like his music get sent to Oklahoma." Dora turned and faced Jim, who was smiling at the edge of the kitchen. "OK, Jim—your turn."

"Oh, now, I don't think I'm quite as light on my feet as Rick, here."

"Dad, you're such a liar. You used to take mom dancing all the time."

"We never two-stepped though." He glared at his daughter, unhappy to have been ratted out.

Dora took his hand and tugged him over to the empty strip of hardwood floor between them and the front door.

"Now don't be shy. With the ladies outnumbering the gentlemen two-to-one here, you would be doing us a great disservice if you didn't at least give it a try."

He smiled and shook his head slightly.

"You have a persuasive way about you, do you know that?"

"I may have been told that a time or two, yes. Now, start with your left, quick, quick, slow, slow, from the start of the measure."

Though he wasn't quite as agile as Rick had been, no toes were stepped on as he made the circuit. When they reached their starting spot, the song changed.

"Oh, Vince Gill. Also a great one to two-step to. OK, Rick take your lady around. This tempo is nice and easy. We'll teach the girls."

"We? I'm suddenly promoted to teacher now?" Jim's eyes widened.

"Best way to learn, Jim, as you go. Come here, Martha, let's give it a try. You've danced a time or two on the stage, I'm betting."

"I'm game. Let's give it a whirl." She stepped up and took Dora's hand, as the Texan had now turned herself to do the gentleman's part.

Jim and Alexis each raised an incredulous eyebrow, but they took up their positions next to Dora and Martha.

Rick had Kate halfway around the room before she knew it.

"You're good at this!"

"Don't sound so surprised. You've dance with me before. Same idea, we're just setting it to different music, changing the tempo." He leaned in and gave her a peck on the lips. "And now I get to do that."

Martha let out a cackle at something Jim was muttering to Alexis as they tried not to run over one another. Dora was just grinning ear to ear.

######

That night, after all the pie had been eaten and dishes done, guests sent home with full stomachs and left-over brisket, Rick had kissed his redheads goodnight and tugged Kate to their room. But rather than giving into the exhaustion of the day and heading to bed, he pulled her in close, took her hand, and started to sway to a love song in his head.

"I like dancing with you."

She did. She always had. They hadn't done it enough.

"Me too." He hummed in her ear.

"It feels different today, though."

"You mean the country and the twang and the two-stepping?"

"No, I mean a feeling. Everything just felt so light today."

"I know. Something about Dora—she has that effect on people. It's a lightness of spirit, I think."

"Did you see her flirting with my dad?" She chuckled into his shoulder.

"It was absolutely adorable—the way she gave him her business card before they left. He's totally going to call her."

"I don't know; she might be a little more than my dad can handle."

"Jim? Are you kidding me? After he recovered from the initial shock, he was flirting right back!"

"He kinda was, wasn't he?"

He was silent for a moment, pressing her close, breathing into her hair.

"Does it bother you?" He was solemn, now.

She thought about it. She knew he had dated a few times, seen women off and on since he got sober, but she'd never met any of them. She assumed if one had been serious, he would have introduced them. She hadn't had to process the fact that her father might be falling for someone other than her mom. But if something really came of this little flirtation over barbeque? Well, she wasn't sure she would mind.

"Maybe if it wasn't Dora it might."

"I think she's got all of us a little bit entranced." He turned her around, pulled back to look at her.

"You did say her lingerie had magical powers." She raised an eyebrow and quirked half a grin.

"Speaking of which, what exactly do you have on under these cowgirl duds?" His right hand, which had been settled demurely against her shoulder blade, suddenly took a dip down to the waistband of her jeans.

"You'll just have to look and see."

They had enjoyed getting the cowgirl duds off. Especially once he saw what she'd had underneath.

"And you wouldn't let me wear fringe today?"

"There's a difference when the fringe is on your shirt as opposed to when it's on your underwear, Castle." She rolled her eyes as he slid her jeans off her ankles.

"Where did this come from?"

"You bailed out on me right at the end at Dora's last month to plot and scheme about how to fill my new lingerie drawer. This was one of the ones you missed." She did enjoy tormenting him.

He traced his fingers all the way around the bottom edge of the row of black fringe dripping off the waistband of her thong.

"You heard that song today, didn't you? The rock-a-billy one about saving the horse…"

"Ride the cowboy."

"I think that police horse might actually have been named Leroy…" he stood and slid his hands around her ribcage, bringing her in contact with his naked chest.

"Oh good grief." She was going to have to look this up once and for all, now.

"And I kind of am the only John Wayne left in this town." He got a disparaging glance for that one.

"Can you sing me some Willie Nelson?" She groaned slightly as he attached his lips to her neck, just below her ear.

"I could probably manage Johnny Cash," he growled in her ear.

"I guess that'll have to do…" at least she managed to be breathy and low-pitched for once.

But she giggled as he crooned softly against her ear: "The taste of love is sweet…" kissing as he made his way down her neck, "…when hearts like ours meet."

He crossed her collarbone, "I fell for you like a child…" dipped down to taste between her breasts in the deep V of her bra "…oh, but the fire went wild."

He kissed across the edge of the band of her bra, "I fell in to a burning ring of fire," he licked his way down to her belly button and swirled his tongue inside. She was laughing so much she had to steady herself on his shoulder.

"I went down, down, down, and the flames went higher," he made it to the top of the fringe and untied the bows at either hip. She gasped as the underwear fell away and he continued his journey downward.

"And it burns, burns, burns…" he ran his tongue along the crease of her thigh "…the ring of fire, the ring of fire."

######

He had dozed after their second round. She must have tired him out, but he seemed to enjoy her cowgirl skills, both forward and reverse.

Now she lay half over him, naked thigh draped over his hip, arms around his broad chest as it rose up and down steadily with his breathing.

She kept running through the day in her head. The cooking, the laughing, the dancing, Dora's glee at getting every last one of them to two-step at least once around the living room. And then the love-making, and the fringe and the Johnny Cash.

The lightness of spirit Rick had spoken of had completely overtaken her today.

And as much as Rick wanted to give credit to their Texan friend and lingerie source for that feeling, Kate knew that the real source was right here, heart beating under her ear.

She knew things would get harder. His daughter would move out for college, and he'd be beside himself. Someone would have a close call on a case. Her mother's killer would shove his way back into their lives, and they would both be in danger of getting lost in it. She would freak out about spending his money, being in the tabloids, maintaining her independence.

But it all came back to this.

At the beginning and the end of every day, they would be here. And no matter what life threw at them, this foundation would be enough to get them through.

"You do know your brain wakes me up when you're thinking that loudly."

She chuckled against the rise of his pec.

"Go on, spill. I can hear the wheels turning, but not the actual words…"

"I was just thinking about today. About us. I like us. I think I like us better than I like me." She nudged her face against his ribs.

"Oh, now that's just silly. We're only us now because we were already you and me. We couldn't be this good together if we weren't good on our own. And you're my favorite person in the whole world, so don't you trash talk yourself. I'll take it as a personal insult to my judgment." His warm fingers stroked along the curve of her waist under the sheet, absentminded, single-minded.

"Funny. You're pretty much my favorite, too." She kept just a hint of the teasing in her tone.

"Pretty much? Pretty much your favorite person?" He gripped her ribs, like he was going to resort to tickling at any moment.

"You are so easy, Castle." She settled herself, calm and unconcerned, against his chest again.

"You cannot fault me for believing every word you say."

"Okay, fine, I may have been hedging slightly."

"May?" Persistence. She had to remember persistence was what he did best. Especially when rooting out her inner truths.

"Fine. Yes, you are my favorite person in the whole world. Happy now?" Her tone was supposed to sound put out with the admission, but she was fairly sure the veracity of the statement had shone through.

"Yes, Kate, I am." He kissed her hair, nuzzled his nose into it. There was no question his words had been genuine, as he had always been with her heart.

"Good. So am I."

######

**A/N: Oh my. I had no idea how hard it would be to write a last chapter to this story. I mean, I knew exactly what I wanted to say, had all the scenes worked out in my head, but I kept procrastinating about actually writing it. I finally realized today it was because I didn't want it to be over! I love this story. If I didn't, I wouldn't subject anyone else to it. This is who I wish they could be before hitting whatever comes in the finale. I'll write the sequel, but it will probably come out after the finale and maybe take whatever that gives us into account, if at all possible. If not, I promise I'll write it in this 'verse one way or another. I'll work on some other things between now and then, so keep an eye out. In the mean time, thank you to every single person who favorited, alerted, reviewed, followed or reposted on Tumblr, or even just clicked and read a chapter. I have no words to describe what you have all done for me. I can only hope gave you a fraction of that joy in return. -KC**


	22. Chapter 22

**Enlightenment Addition:**

**Dear readers, I have started a brief addition to "Enlightenment" for Labor Day weekend. It will be fun and eventually "M" rated, but "T" for now. This is set between the last chapter of "Enlightenment" and the first chapter of my sequel, "Jump," which is several chapters along now. That has an "M" companion as well, "Jump Journal." So, read this now, and go find that if you haven't yet!**

**Magnification Chapter One**

"And where is the good Doctor this afternoon?"

"Working today, unfortunately." Kate took her hug and ritual glass of bubbly from Dora at the door and hoped her tone didn't convey her real feelings on the Lanie-less visit. Her best friend had always been Castle's biggest cheerleader, and since they'd been dating, all those yells and pompoms had only been magnified. Besides, this way it wouldn't be two against one in Dora's favor on all the lingerie opinions.

"Well, I'll just have to play devil's advocate on her behalf, then."

And what exactly did she play all the other times Kate had been here? Good grief.

Dora was leading her through the store and down the hall, not even letting her look at what was out in the showroom. Figured. She had already stacked the deck.

"So I have your room all set up—since you said the Hampton's on the phone, I took the liberty of adding some absolutely stunning beachwear to your selection."

"Wait, you have swimsuits?"

"You bet your itsy bitsy teenie weenie yellow polka dot bikini I do. Though I wouldn't put you in the yellow polka dots. I think I have a nice red and white one in here, though."

Kate had a couple of swimsuits already; of course Castle had already seen her high-fashion stunner.

But she had finally been cajoled into a week-long Hampton's beach vacation with Castle and the family for Labor Day, after enduring months of whining. She supposed she needed more than one swimsuit.

They were almost through the dressing room door when Kate noticed the extra rack in the corner.

"Dora, what is all this?"

"You asked for 'something special' for your vacation. This is the full 'Dora's vacation spectacular'."

The rolling rack was full of every style and color lingerie Kate had ever imagined, and more. And since she had met Dora, her imagination had expanded pretty exuberantly. But there was no way she could buy all of this—not like the day she had brought Rick in with her and walked away with everything she'd tried on… Today she was on her dime.

"Dora, I need one outfit for this vacation, not one for every day."

"I know that, but I've never helped you pack for a vacation with Fresh Start before, so I didn't know what you'd want. I have a feeling you might never have actually gone on a vacation with a gentleman friend, so maybe you're not quite sure either. Therefore, you get the whole kit and caboodle, darlin'."

She was right. The Texan was always right. Damn it.

"Vacations can be a great time to break out of your usual rut—try out somethin' new. So what are you going for, exactly?"

"I'm not really sure."

"Well, see, that's why you're lucky I've got the whole spectrum of hotness covered."

Kate could not suppress the smile, or the eye roll.

Dora started flipping through a set of hangers at one end of the rolling rack. She punctuated each phrase by sliding back a section.

"We have the coy coquette, the demure damsel, the shy savant, oh, or one of my personal favorites, the evil temptress. And then there's this section—now remember, a little kink goes a long way, but if you never dip your toe in the water, you can't expect to get your suit wet."

"Dora!"

She had reached a group of very strappy, sometimes leather, wait—were those actual pearls? And those went where?

"Don't knock it 'til you've tried it, Katie-girl."

Kate's eyebrows climbed as she examined something called a "playsuit" that was severely lacking in the fabric that one might associate with a suit of any kind.

And then it hit her. Dora was dating her father. Oh, she needed to bleach her brain.

She groaned aloud, scrubbed a hand across her eyes.

"Well, I'll leave you to it. If you need some opinions, give me a holler'."

About fifteen bathing suits and twenty lingerie ensembles later, Kate had a very unique but tasteful set to surprise Rick, and a swimsuit that would hopefully drive him completely insane.

Amazingly enough, the lingerie was not as expensive as she had feared. The swimsuit was mildly ridiculous, but not so high that she would be afraid to get in the water.

"Knock knock! You've been in here an awfully long time."

Dora tapped on the door and cracked it open.

"You left me an awful lot of things to try on."

The older woman took that as an invitation to enter, and slipped inside the dressing room.

"Did you make it through them all?"

"Are you kidding? That would take DAYS, Dora. I made it through enough. I found what I need."

Dora crossed to the rack, apparently trying to decipher which items had been tried on and returned to their hangers.

"Did you try on _any_ of the naughty ones?"

"Dora…"

"Fine, fine. Let's see the final picks."

Kate held up the two hangers.

"Now that is a lovely bathing costume. Perfect for teasing him mercilessly in public." She smiled that knowing smile. "And this—" she brushed the openwork lace of the nightie set—"will be the perfect continuation in private. Preferably very private. You did get adventurous—good girl!"

Kate rolled her eyes. Definitely good that Lanie was not in on this.

"Now I'm just gonna throw in a cover-up for the beach. And don't argue, because it's on me. Tell Fresh Start it's my personal gift to him for the weekend."

"Dora, I have things to cover up with already."

"Oh, but I'm gonna guess you don't have one like this. Flirty and light and—the best part—it has _laces_."

On her way out the door she mimed tying a little bow in the air with her fingers and grinned.

"Bring those on out here and I'll ring you up."

Kate followed, as always feeling slightly intimidated by the petite business woman despite all her reasons not to. Somehow she doubted this cover-up would cover much.

Surprisingly, when Dora selected a hanger from the alcove behind the swimsuits, Kate thought the green print overshirt looked fairly tame.

"Now, about that lingerie. Is the whole family joining you on this little trip?"

"Alexis and Martha are going up as soon as Alexis' class lets out on Friday morning, and they'll be there for the long weekend, but Rick and I are staying the week."

Dora was already behind her register, removing tags, when she answered.

"Oh good. May I suggest you not bring this out—" she waved the black lace number "—until Monday night? Knowing the male mind, once he sees you in this, it's all he's going to be able to think about for the foreseeable future."

Kate did her best to keep a straight face at the sage tone Dora always employed when doling out bedroom advice.

"And if I may be so bold, I imagine his place would rival Southfork as far as square footage is concerned. You ought to take advantage of the real estate, if you know what I mean."

"Dora!"

"Well, why have so many lovely rooms if you're not going to have lovely memories to go along with them! And after all, this trip _is_ about becoming the queen of this castle, pun fully intended. So you might as well own it, Katie darlin'."

The smile froze on her face. Queen of the castle—she was living with him in Manhattan. Whatever this place was at the Hamptons, he was probably trying to tell her it was hers as well.

And where exactly did that put them?

They weren't engaged, but they were certainly more than just dating. She refused to believe he would use this weekend to propose. He knew she was nowhere near ready. They hadn't mentioned it in months. And he was acting too normal. The man couldn't keep a secret to save his life.

No, this weekend wasn't about getting married. But it might be about easing her into… something more permanent than dating. Something involving beachfront property.

Queen of the Castle. Interesting.

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** 2012 / 08 / archive-post_ **


	23. Chapter 23

**Magnification Chapter Two**

He was fiddling with the radio again. Something obnoxious and blaring came on and he hit scan before his hand returned to the gearshift. They were still on the highway—less shifting required.

She was going to murder him in the front seat of his Ferrari, and they hadn't even made it to the Hamptons yet.

"Why won't you let me plug in my iPod again?"

"This is earthy, Beckett. We need to absorb the local flavor. Become one with the people. Breathe in the culture."

"The culture of overheated Manhattanites invading the beach for the last gasp of summer?"

He was apparently undeterred by her pithy sarcasm.

"You don't want to listen to the same tired old playlists on your first real vacation in what, like a decade, do you?"

Ouch. Well, it kinda had been a decade. Damn.

"They are not tired or old and they are my playlists, thank you very much."

She squinted at him through her sunglasses, hair wisps whipping around her face from her French braid.

"I even made a new one titled 'vacation'."

"Let me guess, it includes selections of unusual alternative rock intermixed with punk and the occasional throwback to the nineties."

How did he know this shit about her? There was only one U2 song from the nineties.

"Fine." She reached for the floorboards, dug in her shoulder bag until she snagged one of her ear buds and tugged out the white and silver rectangle. She was untangling the wires when his palm dropped on her inner thigh fingers squeezing.

"Uh uh. No you don't. We are in this together. No surreptitious iPod listening."

"Really Castle? You're putting your foot down about my iPod? We've been in the car less than an hour. We're never going to make it through nine days without killing each other if you're going to play Neurotic Nazi Cruise Director about my taste in music."

"Just humor me on this one. We're almost in range."

The warmth of his palm left her, and he hit scan again. A soft, melodic jazz station filled the speakers.

"Ah… Good old WSHR. You can only get this on the road. The house is too far north, so we've only got it for the next hour or so."

His whole posture relaxed—head leaned back into the headrest, shoulders dropped, fingers unclenched from the steering wheel.

It was really quite soothing; top down, sun shining. She felt herself let out a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding.

Well, maybe radio wasn't such a horrible idea. She dropped her iPod back in her bag and covered his hand where he had rested it on his own denim-clad knee.

As they took the cloverleaf from 495 to cross the island toward 27, things turned decidedly more rural. It was amazing to her that only an hour from the city, there was this amount of blue sky and green foliage.

Kate hadn't spent time in the Hamptons, and she had never seen photos of Rick's house, so she just assumed it was a showplace. All she did know was that it was beachfront, from all their stories of stepping off the deck and being practically in the sand. She knew there was a library, and a big one from all accounts, since Alexis had asserted that "most" of their books were up there. If she was honest with herself, Kate was just as excited about that as she was the promise of sun and sand.

Free time came to her rarely. Not by necessity, of course. She'd chosen to ignore all the vacation time on her paycheck printout. She donated some occasionally to wounded officers or new moms. They had good reasons to need the time off. She had certainly gone through her sick leave after she had been shot. But that time never dipped into her vacation days.

She had never felt the need for a vacation, aside from the occasional day to stay in bed and read a book or go for a long ride on her Harley. And she hadn't had a family to cajole her into a trip.

She couldn't pinpoint her reasons for putting Castle off all summer. He had started bugging her about going to the beach almost as soon as they had started dating. Something about vacations made her twitchy. Spending uninterrupted time around other people with no real purpose, no goal—it just didn't sit well. She was already teetering on the edge of Castle overload on the few full weekends they had spent together with nothing to do. He was sweet and wonderful, and the sex was absolutely, mind-blowingly gorgeous, but there were only so many hours in a row one could spend making love, and when he got bored, Rick tended toward clingy.

In the very beginning, she was so enraptured with having him, with loving him, that she'd barely noticed his needy moods—she'd had them, too. They had reassured one another that all of it was real.

But as the summer peaked, and Alexis' move into the dorm at Columbia finally happened, she saw his boredom surfacing more often. It didn't help that Frozen Heat was all but released, and that the promotional events weren't yet in full force.

When Kate had free time, she needed to spend at least some of it alone. Needed to regroup and find herself apart from him. All her insecurities about moving in had been allayed. She loved him. She loved his family. She wasn't going anywhere. But that didn't mean she didn't need some alone time occasionally.

She had taken to going for longer runs on weekends, stopping for a while in the park to read the paper. And she'd booted him out of the loft on a few occasions when she just wanted to yell at him for hovering and twitching. She'd sent Ryan and Esposito paintballing with him one Saturday while she tackled a Patterson novel and took advantage of his rooftop lounge chairs.

In general, they had negotiated all those bumps well. But now, nine days of each other without a case to work or a novel to write—things might get sticky. It was a bit of a crucible, this trip. A test of whether they could coexist, if not peacefully, then at least without loss of life or limb.

She had been musing out the passenger side since they had turned on to 27, looking toward the ocean. When he turned off on a side street in the middle of East Hampton, she figured they must be nearly there. But he surprised her by pulling into a small parking lot at a grocer's.

"Alexis asked me to stop for a couple of things at the market. Apparently, she and mother are making us a feast tonight. You coming?"

She grinned at the switch.

"I should stretch my legs."

The store was not what she'd expected at all. This was no fancy gourmet shot catering to wealthy upper crust city tourists. A round and sleepy Bassett hound was lazing on a rag rug in one sunny corner. He opened one eye and nearly lifted his head at their entrance, but then seemed to think better of it and tacitly deemed them harmless.

Rick shook hands with the man restocking a shelf. Kate would put him in his mid-sixties, with silvering hair and laugh lines a-plenty. He seemed to recognize Rick right away.

"Haven't seen you in a while, Rick. How have you been? And who have you brought to meet me?"

Castle laid the flat of his palm across the middle of her back, rubbed absently up and down as she leaned in to shake the man's hand as well.

"This is Kate. Kate, this is Ethan Stone, owner of this fine establishment."

He was tall, tanned, and lean, sparkling green eyes smiling at her from behind smart-looking glasses. She couldn't help but notice the similarity between Castle's plaid button down and Ethan's. He looked… comfortable. At ease. In his element.

"You told me about this one, didn't you? Last time you were here? Something about not being able to convince the right one to come up?"

Wow. Well, that might deserve to be addressed later this week. Rick was blushing, but Ethan plowed through.

"So what did you have to bribe her with? Doesn't look like the diamonds and pearls type."

She chuckled at that very correct assessment.

"You'd be correct about that, Mr. Stone. No, he didn't have to bribe me. I'm here of my own free will."

"Good for you! You're going to like it up here. And you've got a great tour guide. He'll keep you away from all the tourist traps."

Rick had slipped off to the produce section, seemed to be contemplating avocados.

"You all should check out the wine tasting later this afternoon if you don't have beach plans."

"We might do that. Alexis and mother have dinner plans for us, though, so we may be helping chop and stir."

"Yes, I heard all about it when they were in here last night getting supplies. You're in for a treat!"

Rick had his requested ingredients bagged, and Ethan met him at the register, made quick work of ringing him up and making change. Rick looked over to her with a furrowed brow.

"For some reason, that only makes me worry."

Ethan raised his hands in a gesture of surrender as Rick met her by the door.

"Hey, they started with all the right raw materials at least. I can't be responsible for what they do to my vegetables once they get them home."

"No one can be held responsible for what happens when my mother enters the kitchen with intentions of anything other than refilling her wine glass. Good to see you again."

"Nice to meet you, Kate. I'm sure I'll be seeing you this week."

She smiled and gave him a little wave as they pushed out the door.

"He seems nice. Knows you pretty well."

"We've been shopping here for as long as we've had the house. He watched Alexis grow up in the summers."

It had taken her time to get down to the version of him that was flowing so easily in this place. She wondered for the millionth time what might have been if their wires hadn't been crossed two summers before… But that pointless speculation did no good for either of them.

"That's sweet. I didn't really think…"

"What?"

She needed to tread lightly—didn't want to make him self-conscious.

"You seem very 'you' here."

He reached for her hand, interlaced their fingers as he walked them along the store fronts in an indirect route back to the car.

"This place was always an escape. I could be real here. Alexis' dad. Martha's son. The guy trying to find his daughter's favorite ice cream after she sprained her ankle doing cartwheels in the sand dunes. Ethan ordered it for me, by the way. Always makes sure he has it in stock over the summer."

She bumped his hip, playfulness overtaking her, making her feel younger, less encumbered by her scars. She wanted to turn cartwheels on the beach.

"So, home? Or sightseeing?"

"Your mom and Alexis are only here for the weekend. The sights will keep."

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**A/N: I'm going to ask you for something, dear readers. The next chapter is M, and I'm going to post it under a separate story with the title "Magnification," RIGHT NOW on FFN and extraordinary lines. ALL of the remaining chapters of this story will be found under that title. I'm letting you know because if you want to continue to receive alert emails about this story, you need to go click on "Magnification" and follow it, or follow me as an author. Posting under the old title is getting to be too tricky, since the original story was only T-rated, with the separate M-chapters, and so I apologize, but it's too confusing. Also, the other story in the "Enlightenment" universe that already has 10+ chapters, is called "Jump," so go click on that one and follow if you are so inclined. Thanks so much for humoring me, and THANK YOU for reviewing, following, favoriting, etc. **

**-Kate**


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